Bus Stop Poetry: Bus Stop; Like a Sunday Bus
Poems (audio)
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Bus Stop
Waiting at the bus stop,
I am vulnerable.
A vehicle could drift onto the curb,
causing certain injury- or worse.
A stranger could disturb
me from my daydream,
preventing its potential
to be an amusing idea for verse.
An advertisement above
could influence me into buying
what I don't need-
hitting the skinny wallet in my purse.
Hate it when it rains
and I get drenched from a hydroplane,
or when the sun swelters
and there's no shelter.
I feel overly revealed
even when under the shield.
I can't hide from the blinking eyes
from passerbys- the cars and creepy guys.
Like a Sunday Bus
Like a Sunday Bus
signs of his pure affection
too far in between
Bonus Bus-Related Poetry, from the Archive:
I really liked ‘Bus Stop’, Marinarena.
And I especially like this bit:
“A stranger could disturb
me from my daydream,
preventing its potential
to be an amusing idea for verse.”
— that was great.
Like a Sunday bus! So good