The Trials and Tribulations of Route 17 – Zahira P. Latif

I stood at the bus stop, waiting for the number 17 into Birmingham city centre. I had been waiting for over 20 minutes, and the queue at the stop had now built up to well over 20 people. I can drive, but car ownership had lost its appeal. I was tired of having to cart…

ONE POEM — Joseph Eastell

half six stampedes into our room
where we stretch across the kingsize,
urban sprawl nibbling at the greenbelt.

Right There — Lily Blacksell

‘Your place or mine?’ he typed, adding then deleting a winky face and pressing send.
 
‘Neither,’ she replied very quickly, adding ‘obviously.’

ONE POEM – Sarah Degner Riveros

Mama hugs
her son. Can we get
horchata? No. Not today.
It’s Tuesday. Treinta tacos?
De asada? Para llevar.
The wait’s worth it.