From the Back of the Bus©

The journey to school via that yellow tin can
They call it a bus at least where I come from, man

Long and narrow it transports it’s precious cargo
And delivers daily where we must show to grow

My favorite destination of that vehicle not of choice
Was the back of the bus so I could hide inside and rejoice

Many lessons were learned on the way to school
Observing life from that back of that melting *** pool

One learned about friendship between two friends
The shy kid whose ride was a means to an end

The bully that would run amok
Those were the ones that would have me duck

There were smiles and frowns alike
Most days I would rather ride my bike

Some days were up but most days were down
In the midst of the crowd and the class clown

Intersperse that beautiful girl
And the kids that made you want to hurl

Some were kind and some were tough
Seeing some of both was enough

Not realizing at that young age
This was preparing us for a different life stage

The ride was a daily grind
While I was looking for something else to find

From the back of the bus

Andreas Simic©

From the Back of the Bus©

The journey to school via that yellow tin can
They call it a bus at least where I come from, man

Long and narrow it transports it’s precious cargo
And delivers daily where we must show to grow

My favorite destination of that vehicle not of choice
Was the back of the bus so I could hide inside and rejoice

Many lessons were learned on the way to school
Observing life from that back of that melting *** pool

One learned about friendship between two friends
The shy kid whose ride was a means to an end

The bully that would run amok
Those were the ones that would have me duck

There were smiles and frowns alike
Most days I would rather ride my bike

Some days were up but most days were down
In the midst of the crowd and the class clown

Intersperse that beautiful girl
And the kids that made you want to hurl

Some were kind and some were tough
Seeing some of both was enough

Not realizing at that young age
This was preparing us for a different life stage

The ride was a daily grind
While I was looking for something else to find

From the back of the bus

Andreas Simic©

A frizz of hair and froth of cloudy breath
Walk down the dimly lit, puddled mirror
Of wet sidewalks
Shushed by the rush of the stampede
of bullets that shoot along beside
Pushed by an exodus of ex bus surplus minds
Flowing with the tide

Feathers flit and twitter overhead
With sticks and bits to make their bed
A sparse sea for company
Drops down to flow alongside me
And wet the grass
Which grows between the sidewalk slits
And rocky pothole pits
Beside the dark leaf stains and plodding feet
That beat a slow, releived retreat
From crowded bus seat

When I go on the bus
I always sit at the back
So I can watch the whole of it,

Well, sad thing is I always go over the engine
And if it blows up
I'm the first to go.

We're never safe and comfortable, are we?