Buses

The end of the school day,

some who drive,

or are fortunate enough to

bum a ride,

head to their vehicles.

 

The rest of us,

if we aren't staying after,

wait at the front

for the buses to come.

 

Like a yellow parade,

with a group of oversized floats,

the procession files in,

and claim their familiar places.

 

Selecting a bus,

for one reason or another,

piling next to smelly children,

and scary teenagers.

Reviews

[Tony]

You see, you have brought something back to me from long ago......
Skool buses.....
I had forgotten that teenagers were so scary!
This poem is Exactly as I remember the ritual.....

[Moflo]

-Just wanted to add something...consider reading DH Lawrence's "Odour of Chrysanthemums," and note the progression of the firetrucks and train cars, maybe you could allude to this to help your bus images.

[Moflo]

This was interesting...I like the brief descriptions and the third stanza was very good! It can probably stand to be extended a little but otherwise, its a good indifferent picture that you paint of the end of the day.