Bloody Men Are Like Bloody Buses Poem by Amy Sutton

Whatever her name was,
She was right
When she talked about
Men being like buses.

But both my rides
Were offering to take me
In completely different directions.

The only one with brakes
Had no windows,
And a learner driver
Too scared to travel over twenty…
And the air-conditioning
Made the air
Uncomfortably close.

The other had windows so wide
It felt more like flying than riding,
But with no brakes
And a drunk driver
One wrong move
Would have made me
Human jam on the tarmac.

I did what they told me,
(And They knew best,
They were older and wiser,)
And I showed my ticket:
One better-safe-than-sorry single.
(I'd been told brakes were the better choice.)

But by the first bus stop
I was stir-crazy!
I felt like she was on
The Slowest Bus In The Universe!
I couldn't take it.
And I made a split second decision
Before the doors closed:
I bus-hopped.

You heard me.

I bus-hopped.

And let me tell you now,
That second bus ride
Was beyond belief.
It was…
Stellar.

And I finally felt like I was
Going somewhere…
You know?

I just didn't see
The walls,
The trees,
And all those narrow misses.
I was too busy being
On top of the world.

Until we came to a bridge
And the top floor came off.
Seriously.
Just a crunch and scream
Of burning metal,
And in two point three seconds
The double became a single.

And when I pointed it out,
The driver
(In less graceful words)
Wondered aloud if
Maybe this was my stop,
Hinting a train home might be
The better option
Than waiting for the return bus.

So now I'm back on the slow bus;
They never even noticed I'd gone.
And, in all honesty,
Now it's growing on me.
Maybe I can learn to like this bus.

Sometimes, when the doors open,
I catch a glimpse of that other bus
Careering around a bend,
And wonder with a sad smile
What it might have been like.

Truth be told, I know what choice
I should have made.
I've known it for a while now.

I should have bloody walked.