It’s not as if I don’t know buses
Because there have been times when I’ve been a regular rider
Knowing the schedule by heart
Routes and numbers familiar as TV channels
I developed nodding friendships with other inmates of the rolling asylum
Locked into patterns of time and transport
I learned to hate drivers who kept the heat cranked up
Well into winter so they could wear shorts and short sleeved shirts
While the rest of us sweltered in our layers having to contend
With the reality of cold precipitation outside
I don’t miss the rush hour memories
Like the time we were crammed standing closer than riot police
I noticed my foot was wet
And saw that the woman beside me had a leaking bag of fish
Anointing me with a fragrance that persisted for weeks
Or the time two boys were sniffing glue from ziplock bags
In the seat behind me and while they seemed happy with the buzz
I just caught a contact headache, left at the next stop and walked
I remember the autistic lad who knew all the makes and models
Unfortunately there were some buses he really couldn’t abide
His distress was palpable when the wrong one came along
Those rides made us all moan and groan
Even if he was the only one to verbalize his feelings
I don’t miss those moments when the bus is early on its route
And you are half a block away unable to sprint to the stop in time
Or fumble in vain for the correct change
But for all that pain and all this whining
Buses have been there for me
Taking me safely from point to point
Providing space to make neighbours into friends
And if it’s not as magical as teleportation
Buses are just as moving in reality
David Trudel © 2013
Beautiful images in this poem. In particular, the “riot police” simile is GREAT. You have beautiful rhythm and word choice 🙂 Really enjoyed it!
Thank you so much, I really appreciate your comments!