You’re at my bus stop every day,
You never smile; that’s your Latvian way.
You’re thin and blonde, not a hair out of place,
While I’m a dragged out of bed disgrace.
The bus pulls up; it’s full as always,
This is shaping up to be one of those days.
We scramble on, try to cling to a pole,
And scan for a seat, the ultimate goal.
The bums on seats are smug, satisfied,
Faces stare straight ahead as though somebody died.
Then someone stands up, my heart almost bursts,
But of course, nemesis, you get there first.
Trapped as I am, some oaf on my feet,
I watch as you daintily take my seat.
You pout and fluff your still perfect hair;
I untangle my feet and resentfully stare.
Now this really wouldn’t be such a crime,
If you didn’t do it every damn time!
I’m still standing when we get to my stop,
You miss my look that should make your head pop.
The cold air hits, my heart sinks in sorrow,
Knowing we’ll do this again tomorrow…
So, this is what I think about when I take the bus. Does anyone else have a ‘bus nemesis’ or am I just going slowly insane?