That Bloody Bus

Spitter-spatter, drench, drip,

I gloomed at fate as the 168

trashed me in its grip. 

Ching-ching-a-ring, click-a-nick, 

clippie’s bait on the 168,

the slick, the quick, me sick.

 

Chugga-chugga, lurching cruel,

the 168 was always late

and so was I, for school.

 

Stop, start, judder, squeal,

a thing of hate, the 168,

its brakes, its shrieking steel.

Fuggy, oily, mac-smell choke,

I was freight on the 168,

trapped pore deep in smoke.

Chugga-chugga, lurching cruel,

the 168 forever late

and so was I, its tool.