Buses to me are like rubbish TV,
Time-wasting, drab and dirty,
I’d rather take the car,
Than travel so far,
On a smelly, red, vessel of accidity.
Last week after boarding the bus,
An Inspector accused me of cheating,
He said, “You’re a fare dodger”,
” A pirate, a jolly Roger”,
Indignant, I argued whilst beating,
My fist repeating and repeating,
“I’m not”. “I swiped my Oyster card”
“Check with the driver, or Scotland Yard”.
“Do I look like the sort of person to avoid paying my fare?”
“Do I look like the sort of person who cares?
Was that a rhetorical question? Asshole!
looktoyourpath 
Hi Yvonne,
Good work on the poetry. Hows life treating you mate?
Peter xx