Archive 03/23/10 - (2)

   

Metro Buses

                                                                  

All across town, upside and down,

Metro buses drive by,

With ramshackle clatter,

Empty as spent shotgun cartridges

Or unloaded Chinese cargo containers

Piled six stories high,

On America's spendthrift dock.

 

How can they justify their existence,

When nobody rides their routes,

Arriving home, late,

To ghettos, prisons, cemeteries,

After slaving, all day, in suburbia?

Not a solitary soul knows,

Not even the phantom drivers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                               

 

03/23/10 - (2)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
       

 

 
   
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