The bus journey home

This poem is quite delayed in being posted as it was started a few days ago, however it seems a shame to disgard it amongst the other unfinished dittys I’ve written- and I’ve set myself the task of writing a poem a week (along with doing a painting a week and making a cake a week) so I’ve attempted to finish it, seeing as I failed to make a cake OR paint anything 😛


For myself and Miss. Fry and Caroline English
our bus journey home surmounted to this:
Caroline slumped on the end as if dead,
not a word nor a sentence was uttered or said.
The clock played its part in her degradation
and by 5pm she needed resusitation.
As for Emma and I- we could have been stoned,
laughing and cackling the entire way home.
Delirious fatigue had set in like a tonic;
a mental fix to our tiredness so chronic.
I made funny noises, I made little movements
I behaved in a way that was far less than prudent.
A wonder the driver did not kick us off
he could have at ASDA, we stopped long enough…

The pinnacle point was the topless old man
cycling past with his lovely tan.
We got over excited because Emma cried
‘there’s a naked man in front on a bike’ !!
Turns out he was clothed- at least down below
but it left us in stitches; our maturity shows.
By the time the bus stopped and we went to alight
the passengers must have thought we weren’t quite right!
Though the laughing fits were a great release
to another intensive and sleep deprived week!

So be warned if you travel on bus 68,
the one that takes ages and that’ll make you late,
should you witness hysteria within the vicinity
it’s the postgrads- your future TV personalities!


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