BUS RAGE

I forgot to set the alarm and had to run for the bus.
I can’t afford to be late; my long-suffering boss will be cross.
The bus is grinding its gears and I am grinding my teeth.
The air brakes hiss as it stops. Squealing doors open - at ease.
My thoughts altogether unholy, passengers slink on and off…
Can’t this contraption go faster? The rattletrap’s roar winds me up.
It judders and shudders and my breakfast starts heaving,
as the woman beside me moans that her husband’s absconded,
stealing the dog, and her pot plants are dead…
I murmur ‘I’m  sorry… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…’
glance at my watch and then mutter a curse.
The board meeting has started so I can’t take the Minutes,
as I count the minutes stuck in a snarl-up of hooting and ranting
psychotic drivers, while I have Ms Misery grabbing my ear.
Move! Move bus! I will it. Pretty please traffic; please, please get a move on!
And so it does … an inch at a time… for what seems like an hour!
If I were to die my ghost could fly faster… to wait to be sacked for tardy timekeeping.
I ease up unsteadily pushing and shoving, somehow decamp from the expletive deleted…
Then hitting the pavement I start to leg it, wheezing in panic for the last mile…
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