The Bus

Every morning I have to ride the bus

And she's always there

Her big bottom smooshing the seat

She always shakes her head

Looking angry

I climb the rubber covered steps carefully

No intention of enraging her further

She mutters under her breath and checks the big mirror

That displays everything behind her, including me

Ducking my head, I avoid her piercing stare

I constantly wonder

What about a bus full of kids

Could make her so angry

Author's Note

Please tell me anything you find with this poem that doesn't seem to fit! Thanks!