The bus rumbles up to its stop

Black, basic, blazoned numbers of 239

Tip-tap down the plastic stairs

A group of grandparents get off

Though they move at a snail-like pace,

Before long, you and various kids board.

Before long, coins clink into their box.

Before long, you are seated, and the journey begins.

The bus is filled with chatter, locals telling you:

“The food here is to die for!”

“This park is the best for pictures, you know.”

Yet you never forget your decisions are yours alone.

They meld into the background, and you decide

Standing might be better for you.

The bus rocks to and fro, and so

You grab the cool metal pole.

It grounds you, leaving you free

To watch the landscape flit by.

Parks and ponds give way to an urban jungle;

Suddenly, it’s not just the view you’re seeing.

Years pass just as quick as the trees,

And your heart aches for times long gone.

“Destiny Drive,” a tinny voice states.

Ah, you’ve arrived at last.

The bus rumbles up to its stop,

And you deboard with the wisdom of your years.