There once was a bus driver
Who loved the loud speaker
A block from the stop
She would start
Talking at the people
While they waited on the curb
None of it made sense
None of it was necessary
Semi-automatic instructions
Punctuated with good mornings
mams and sirs
and I need you tos
She was a stage coach driver
We were her horses
Loved and lashed
In the same whip-crack breath
-T. Weeks
Life Immense 