14 June 2012
I sit at the kerb, Waiting for the yellow bus. It's old rusty engine, from miles away can be heard. All to be seen is kids in a rush.
The clang of the suspensions, And the honk of the horn, Grab everyone's attention, out their homes in a storm.
I rise from my spot, Straighten my new skirt, The back of my neck hot, And my shoulders hurt, The first day of school, Always brings with it a fool.
Open the doors slide, Everybody rushes for the back. I wait in line, I don't want to witness their dealing of crack.
We arrive at the school, Everybody moans, My head turns to wool, All I want to do is turn back home.
They all step out, Pushing and shoving, I remain seated, my lips in a pout. As they all chat, I remain left out. The topic of interest; summer loving.
Not for me, My summer was spent indoors, Without an ounce of glee. Where I was it pored, Heavy showers and storms. I couldn't have been more bored. I'm awakened from my dream, with the sound of the horn.
Now I'm out the bus, Walking alone. About their summers, the others discuss. Rounding the corner, I moan. Here I am again, hell be it must. How I wish, I was back on that old yellow bus.
The Yellow Bus • Opuss № I