No buses will stop; they show me no pity.
Time after time, they drive right on by,
I throw up my hands, yell swears, and ask, “Why?!”
Sadly resigned, I ride jeepney at last,
I am not amused; we're immediately passed.
The driver, it seems, is looking for riders,
He sees possible pesos in all standing road-siders.
In braking he's harsh, in traffic he lurches,
The Catholics cross themselves as we pass churches.
Knees knocking knees, a woman's breastfeeding,
I focus my eyes on the page that I'm reading.
A screaming young baby's disrupting my nap,
A rather large lady sits right on my lap.
I can't move my legs, or not bump my head,
Each minute riding this fills me with dread.
With tapping of coin, I at last disembark,
Time has passed slowly, it's now almost dark.
Fresh air and free legs, a new lease on life,
It’s great to be rid of the "easy ride" strife.
Next time, I resolve, I'll make the bus stop --
If not by my gestures, I guess I'll throw rocks.
*Author's note: the smaller jeepneys in the area are called "easy rides." In other areas, they are known as multi-cabs, which is much less of a misnomer.