Riding the Bus

Yes we took the obligatory cable car to the wharf.

Where we viewed our beginnings .

For the neophyte the ride is quintessential San Francisco.

Bus drivers and bus stops are a separate story.

Not once did I hear a driver lose it.

For me one day on the job

Would’ve tested all my reserves, found me wanting.

Herds of children going somewhere,

Led by teenage girls in school sweaters.

Each child pushing for discipline,

Severe discipline.

“Why do I have to stand for that old lady?”

“Sally took my book”.

“Why can’t I hold on with one hand?”

“Jim hit me”.

“Maybe Jim should throw her off the bus”, I thought

“Please exit through the rear”, the recorded voice advised.

One day, maybe, an obedient visitor from a vigorous Christian school

Will heed the message, sensing the voice of omnipotence,

And walk to the rear exit.

Meanwhile 20 people can’t enter

Because “ too cool” is leisurely leaving through the entrance.

Where is the “law and order”  dude to

Wind “too cool” back up the stairs?

Moving through Chinatown, in a fully occupied bus,

Crowds, exceeding its capacity, wait at each stop.

They might still be waiting

For the bus that has room.

Bright banners form a cacophony of colors.

Streets are overflowing

A sense of purpose, a relic of the 1950s,

Pervades the scene.

Bus stops have inorganically evolved

From a mere white and and red sign

To something resembling a kiosk.

Its fluorescent  roof, and flip seats offers some comfort from the rain.

An electronic message flashes.

Informing the transient that 2 minutes from now

A rolling behemoth will stop here.

There are no animated commercials yet,

Nor is there a daily message

Suggesting how to improve your life.

I was unable to detect the presence

Of a spy camera recording my every movement,

But then I might not be adequately paranoid.

To me “the bus” is a metaphor.

Slightly class conscious,

And carrying its cargo

It moves through streets

That speak of different cultures,

And 100 gradations that make this city.

Bus drivers reflect the acceptance.

Odds are 50-50 that the boy will give his seat

To the older lady.