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The Bus Incidents 
The Bus Incidents 
The one hour bus ride and the things we have to find to write about the less said 
the better 
has been dethroned today eye am a better than all of that myself eye am a poet in 
the frame of mind to dispel the darkenness of mores and upper crusting people 
on the bus the form of public transportation that is afforded to the poor and 
homeless poet that eye am. My ride begins at the bus stop and goes for less 
than one whole hour and there is never any lack of my material the words pour 
positively from the mouths of all the imbeciles. 
The lady was nice; the bus was the express the lad was burning the gas in his 
cart, 
Or mabe it was electric it moved without sound and upright and go fast for a two-
wheeled contrivance the thing was running most silent. She asked the driver 
to “HOLD THAT BUS” 
The driver was pointing and asking her “WHY” lady we must be moving 
on, “THIS” is 
The Express, and I the driver of this thing will not wait for long”. 
Eye am waiting for my son. He is bringing me my coffee to me please. 
The driver smiled and still polite said “well I am not waiting long” for that not just 
for that. 
The boy on the two-wheeled cart contrivance GAVE to her her coffee as she 
boarded 
Eye am sorry MOM but I hurried and I come to you to give to you this stuff. 
The bus left the boy went on down the sidewalk and eye hurried to my transfer no 
wiser or 
Better looking than eye am then the bus started again and then eye saw the old 
homeless man 
At the next bus stop with the shopping cart He must look really hard for ALL that 
stuff 
Its hard to see he is my poor brother eye keep my own needs simple and eye 
travel light, 
And keep all of Egypt on my back, but some people need the even more security 
a four wheeled   
Shopping –cart can afford them. He had the thing loaded and even at this 
moment is still asleep 
In his blankets with a shopping-cart contrivance that is not his personal asset 
and very hard   for me to even understand this shopping-cart man because eye 
am still carry my stuff on the bus. 
The moral of this story is to thread the eye of the needle a poor man can be 
blessed and fed without being a slave to his bed and this story has occurred in 
less than one whole hour upon the city bus. The rest of this story is just a rude 
conversation the author has rude poems four condensed into one please read 
them all.
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