Poetry of Public Transportation

My work week inspires me (insert maniacal laughter of civil servant after Holiday break) and I prove once again poesy in not my forte!

Seven tired people, riding on a van. Six of them are ladies, one of them a man. Ages vary widely as do race and creed. We are all brought together by our transportation need.

One has lost their license, one can’t see for shit. One has to share with wifey because his own car was hit. One’s afraid of traffic, one can’t drive at night, one is only interested in  the latest octagon ring fight

We doze, we nod, we snore and fart, we read, we chat all in our cart. There is anger, prattle, happy talk. Phone calls, messages, long necks like stalks.

Coffee, soda, water too, tea and red bull and orange juice splash, most are wearing breakfasts masks. Eggs and biscuits, beans and grits, butter, jelly, chicken bits, poptarts, croissants, strudel too, all the frozen stuff they make for you.

We sigh we heave we move our butts…. Work again work again -- oh shut up