The bus

A man mumbled under his breath,
As a dog sniffs a pole,
'entering service' displays in orange,
The wheels start to roll.

A beep and a chuckle,
And we're off on our way,
Traffic lights, bushes,
The dawn of a new day.

Backs of strangers,
All shoulders and heavy,
Craning for to look at their phone,
A shuffle then a scuffle,
The older men moan.

A girl wipes the window,
With the back of her palm,
Startled by the breaks, her journey still a dream,
Umbrellas drip and trickle,
A an checks an in-seam.

The chime of the bell,
A rustle of snacks,
Silver steamy railings,
The heave of weary backs.

All ages and stories,
Perhaps surreal and divine,
The bus is now full,
Someone's bag tests on mine.

Side doors clap open,
Luggage full like a trough,
Children going and gurgling,
A deep chested cough.

The floor has turned muddy,
Shoes all a plop,
Shopping bags shivering,
In the moving brown slop.

Sharing of air,
Not knowing one name,
Is a peculiar contest,
A patient foolish game.

One can't beat the feeling of knowing its your turn,
Pressing the red square,
Faces surly and stern.

The freedom of the breeze,
As it slaps both your cheeks,
The brake lights go off,
Indicator, the back leaks.

Onto the next for the next  person's stop,
At the end of the line,
Let's hope there's a willing mop.