The Garden City Refugee

Another Bus Adventure

February 6, 2014

When I got on the bus this morning, standing in front of the fare box
Was a young woman with long, brown locks

With so much room, she still chose to block our way
Did she not want us to pay?

I sat down opposite a teenage girl, her smile unnaturally wide and bright
Perhaps there was some white powdery substance travelling up her nostrils last night

Needing directions, an older gentleman asked the driver to be a sleuth
He thought the bus was a mobile tourist information booth

A young punk darting in front of the bus nearly caused the health care system to be billed
Because he came a whisker away from getting killed

I don’t take the bus very often, yet there’s always a story to be told
Each time I use Transit Tom in this bitter cold