Bus Driver's Lament

Jammed up, crammed up, nerve-fraying rush hour traffic;

Perfume-bathers and their throat-tearing, eye-tearing, floral-acid stench;

Shower-avoiders and their throat-tearing, eye-tearing, armpit-acid stench;

Traffic-jamming bus stop parkers;

Unfair fare scammers;

Seat-slicing vinyl vandals;

Drunk punks, hammered homeless, sloshed salesmen, bombed bitches wearing come-do-me pumps;

Junior high flirts with senior high cleavage;

University girls full of their own self-importance... and senior high cleavage;

Old buses that can’t climb hills in the sweltering summer burn;

Geriatrics who can’t walk or hold on but just have to shuffle shuffle shuffle past six empty seats to sit at the back while... we... all... wait;

Cranky old schedule-memorizing clock-watchers late for mall-walking club;

Turn-signal-challenged yahoos, idiots and gene-pool-cleansing dumb-fucks;

Bottle-pickers with torn and tattered, beer-leaking, bus-stinking plastic bags of recyclable refuse;

Bicycles needing rides but no bike rack to oblige;

Jaywalkers stepping out and bike messengers swerving in;

Toxin-smoking, cloud-wearers dragging fumes on board to share with one and all;

And iPod isolationists cutting off the world at volume beyond understanding.

Kids from college full of knowledge and educational enthusiasm;

Toddlers full of giggles and wiggles and moms glad to just sit for a bit;

Seniors glad to be out and about and commuters glad to sit back and relax...and let someone else deal with Rush Hour Madness;

Homeless folk happy for a warm ride and a welcoming stranger’s smile;

And harried, clock-challenged, bus-chasers thankful for a driver who saw and stopped
and gracefully accepted their gratitude before taking them on down the road, home.

~