By Sydney
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(Before you read, this is about ME, happy IN the bus.)
Loud hum with a rumble, hiss sounds
forced my body jerks forward.
Sitting into this damp, stale seat,
for hours squashed between my luggage
and someone's elbow.
My phone and purse should’ve been in my bag.
Am I mad? Nah I feel sick.
The hot breath, the air’s thick,
the wind of someone’s leftover garlic.
Babies crying, kids jumping and stripping,
moms yelling, shouting, grumbling.
Guess the shout can make a baby choking.
One minute, guys climbing in.
One guy’s banging a tambourine.
Another one’s with a guitar, he's off-key,
off-rhythm, off everything. Should I
pay him? Or should I end him?
Then it happens
a sudden hurk, bleeghh, a splatter.
Kid just lost his breakfast.
Banana, milk, something orange.
The smell hits my lungs, sweet and sour
mixed, worse than a jelly corpse.
Of course, it's sticking on my pants.
I’m done.
Deal with the noise and people's sweat.
Call my parents. Please.
Tell them to come and rescue me.
Unless the driver has a heart
to let me off and pay me a taxi.
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