With Christmas On the Horizon

Reflective patches on visible uniforms

No more fashionable garments in my hood

Turned into a labour camp

It's 2am and we're on the nightride bus

The smell of exertion with the dampness of midnight hospitality

It fills the air with fatigue

Our sweat has left our bodies for late shifts

To precipitate upon the bus window with the summer rain

Video chats help ease the pain but not the ache

World languages turn the commute into a UN convention

Commentaries in code on the state of this city

It's economic, social, environmental and political status

The cost of living here is a shock to the newbies

Others have reconciled with how much they can send home

Empty stares from those who cannot fake a smile for their loved ones

Fret and worry await their debut  for the rest

Have we lucked out or is our luck almost out