The Wheels On The Bus Poem by Joshua Bantum

They ware down,
the drivers,
the people,
were all tired,
layers of patience,
being coursed by the
consistently damp
asphalt
of Portland, Or.

The windshield wipers swing
like egger pendulums
ticking off each day
that this rain doesn’t
slide us down a cliff,
and take us away.

The babies on the bus do cry……..
and they continue to
all through life.

Everyone snores, no one shushes,
all sleeping or reading,
staring or day dreaming

We’re the wheels
that drag on another
day,
circles
and more
circles
crying fears
that are dried away.
Babies that grow
to mothers
or fathers
who act like we know.

All stuck on the bus
till the string gets pulled
and goes
ding
ding, ding
then you get off
and go
get off
or drink
to wake up and start
the whole thing clean.