Down where the wet newspapers flop,
all wrinkled like damp skin.
Among the crushed drink cans,
trundling like drunken tortoises.
In the one place angels fear to tread
but where the rest of us place our souls,
Cresting a wave of slopped beer,
bobs a delicately folded swan.
I don’t know whose skilled digits
took the rough paper of their bus ticket,
then sharply folded it
before releasing it into the wild.
All can I do is watch as the beery sea swells,
then wave the swan off on its voyage.
Continuing on my own journey,
still weary and tired but now with a smile.
I really did see an origami swan on the bus, the proof is above in the photo I took on my phone, obviously being a poet I just couldn’t let the moment pass without committing it to paper.