There was a man who took the bus,
in order to avoid the fuss
of being stuck in traffic-jams...
but then he just had bags and prams
and people piled on top of him,
while being at the drivers whim-
it felt to him a bit like rape,
as he was squeezed (in sardine-shape!)
into a tin on wheels which went
extremely slowly 'round the bend--
and then inched past the traffic-lights.
The road was filled with epic fights
for parking-spaces: One could see
heroic deeds of bravery.
The air was filled with rising plumes
(like gun-smoke...heavy exhaust-fumes),
while knights in armour wheeled about
in Fords and Nissans. At this rout
the streets were lined with second-hand
car-salesmen: for this merry band
of brothers saw a chance arise
to make a killing. And these boys
were cheering on the combatants-
while at the same time, at a glance
were seizing up the damage done:
Just as in times now past and gone
the undertakers used to measure
the size and shape-- at their own leisure--
of those who did participate
in gunfights- to precipitate
the manufacture and the sale
of coffins. Our man went pale…
And as the bus did slowly rattle
past all the carnage of the battle
(with vultures circling overhead)
the man did watch, and thought he had
quite wisely chosen in the end-
for bags and prams and people tend
to be the lesser evil when
compared with what is outside. Then
he finally did manage to
get off the bus. Well- yes, it's true:
He'd missed his stop two times already,
and so he walked- slowly but steady
a dozen blocks back to his car.
A parking-ticket from afar
he could make out: They clamped the wheels!
He turned quite sharply on his heels-
A dozen blocks he slowly walked
back to the station. He was stalked
by two used-car-salesmen, which he
tried to ignore deliberately;
and with a minimum of fuss
he bought a ticket on the bus
and home he went- where he did find
that he had left his keys behind...