The Bus Stop

The plainness of the everyday parade

I was sitting at a bus stop with no bus to catch,

There’s time to spare but no change at that.

Sitting down, the people march on and off,

it’s a merry go round the carousels of thank yous are so soft.

The bus driver is the only constant between the moving doors,

except also the man asleep on the upstairs floor.

We can be anything when we’re on the bus, time doesn’t exist!

It’s quite amazing the freedom it can give.

Double decker busses are mad to imagine,

stairs in a moving vehicle, who could’ve planned it.

Yet here we are grasping at hand rails and straws,

saying excuse me, sorry, abiding by social law.

There’s human connection so fleeting, it barely meets the eye,

The inch of a nod or a wink to get by.

It started to rain at the bus stop I was at,

all of a sudden there were umbrellas and hats,

how did everyone know? I never think to bring any of that.

I curse my late bus but still say to exchequer please,

To be nice is to be kind to be rude is a breeze.

For it’s not the bus drivers fault that it was late, or cancelled, or I started to freeze.

Maybe he let someone cross the road or waited for a running boy.

Maybe he helped someone on that was really very old.

This bus stop is a metaphor for life,

It starts in the morning and goes on all night.

I see people as they wait for something out of their control.

See sighs of relief when they’re on the way home.

There are all sorts of people on the bus you will cross

Some good, some bad, some plain lost in thought.

Everyone assumed I was waiting for a bus to take me away

but I just come here for somewhere to sit without looking out of place

To admire the faces and the plainness of the everyday parade.

A silly little poem :)