poem of the day 06.28.11

brooklyn bus driver

i catch the eyes of an old lady

she’s sitting on the bus
complaining into her cell phone

ten minutes they’ve been there

and the bus hasn’t moved
from 86th street and stillwell avenue

the old bus driver is long gone

the new one still hasn’t come on the bus

he’s standing on the side of the street
taking his time in the summer sun

he’s laughing with the route manager
who doesn’t seem to give two shits

they are talking about the coming weekend

they are talking about getting out of brooklyn

but neither of them can get
this fucking bus down the street
until the union clock tells them that it’s time to go

this is what those fuckers
in wisconsin and indiana are thinking about
when they put those draconian laws into motion
to take away a person’s rights

these are the times
when we give those pricks their gall
on a silver platter

i think about telling the brooklyn bus driver this

but he has it too good to care
he has a pension to collect and a job to do
he just doesn’t have to do it yet

plus this isn’t my bus
so why get involved?

my bus driver usually stops
for lottery tickets and a diet coke

he’s no ralph kramden either

still, i can’t help looking at the lady on the bus
her red, sweaty face screaming into the phone

all of the other tired people

stoic

failed

going nowhere for the time being

the bus driver slapping his knees
and cackling until he nearly chokes

at the front of the bus there’s a sign
that i usually like to read

it tells you that if you assault
a new york city bus driver
it’s punishable by up to seven years in jail

proving that there’s a reason
for everything in this world.