Glass-tinted doors slide to the side and so I enter

Inside, about 40 rows of seats,

Two on each side, filled to the brim.

I reside in the center space, hunched over

Bracing on the metal railing above me, bearly coping.

I hate that I have to ride the bus for work

Always late

now I have to explain how traffic works,

Ohh god please don't let it rain today

I bend over to look at the clouds through the teacup-sized windows

Little drops make their way through the frame to my nose

My bare back exposed as I curse the darkened skies

I hate that I have to ride the bus for work

My neck hurts

A playful game of pain whenever we pass a speed bump

But I managed to snatch a seat from a man with knee cramps

He stands on his feet not too pleased

But I pay him no attention

I was glee for 45 seconds then someone slumped on my shoulder

Morning drool oozed from his mouth to my neatly pressed shirt

I hate that I have to take the bus for work

Glass-tinted doors slide to the side and so I'm off

Morning breeze fills somewhat soft on my skin

A sigh of relief as I step off its metal-padded footing

I stood there watching it leave

As I whisper

how I hate the bus