The pavement stands beneath me
As the bus burns into the stop.
My eyes and my ears deceive me
And my jaw is compelled to drop
As several burberry caps decide that their turn comes before mine.
'I was here first, sunshine - get to the back of the f***ing line.'
Perhaps, finally some success
As, weary and alone, I ghost on to the bus.
'Sorry, mate' The driver says.
'There's no room, you ain't comin' with us.'
My murderous intent is hard to conceal
As the rage builds and some old b*****d fusses.
His noise is unheard; it's a standard youth-insulting spiel.
It soars straight over my head.
Christ, I hate these bloody useless buses.
Ed England Rhodes
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-really-hate-sheffield-buses/
