The Bus Service

THE BUS SERVICE It was a hot affair - intensely. Older bus of the O.K. Company Coughed and roared up hills. No cure for all its ills. In and out of stuffy tunnels Packed like fish right to the gunwales. Men’s ties were off and collars loose: Their running sweat was still profuse. Women’s faces fanned with papers, Children fractious did no capers. The bus was not uncomfortable, It simply gave no comfort able To calm the tired voyager To please the weary passenger. Its seats were clearly padded, With hard lumps specially added. The cooling system nonexistent, Defied with noise our good intent To talk above the engine’s roar, Like a sleeping husband’s snore. The bus had its advantages - lamely, It was somewhat faster than walking; But many disadvantages – namely, The impossibility of talking. In short, I think the guy from hell Who named the company grasped quite well The quality offered by the service: With words he plainly was no novice. It wasn't awful, it wasn't excellent, It was just O.K. - that was his intent. And that was good enough I’d say For most of us that hot summer's day. However, getting off the bus seemed To be the only thing of which we dreamed.