The Bus Situation
I take the bus home each day from work. One of those days I wrote this poem while riding it.

I suffocate from people's sweat
As bodies press me in
Frying by pervasive heat
And deafened by the din

I'm sitting here in stench
And smelling knock-off brand perfumes
The odors of the people close
Are forming ghastly plumes

I bring my iPod to my ears
Ignore the gleeful tones
My earbuds block the tinny ring
Of blingy prepaid phones

My eyes close in protection
From the shocking choice of wear
The pinks, the reds and all that flash
And glinting, oily hair

This is the reality
Of bus rides every day
But I still sit there, dreaming poems
While fingers tap and play

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