Poetry

She rides the bus each morning; wishing she had a car
The smell of the fumes are overwhelming, but she has no choice
At each stop someone "New" or the daily person gets on
Most of the time she gets a seat but when it is crowded she holds on to the upper bar
Once in awhile someone nice will ask if she wants a seat
She looks around to see all the different colors and patterns
Shoes, Coats, Dresses, Briefcases, Suits, Umbrellas
Someone talking louder than all the others
The Bus Driver looking in the rearview mirror.........
Seeing what there is to see
She thinks to herself.......
Driving must be better than riding the bus?