My Poetry. The Bus Journey!

Boarding the bus, you face a sea of faces,
tired, and a sickly, ashen gray.
Parents with kids who appear to be sleeping,
starting this brand-new, horrible day.

You're tossed around on this bumpy, brutal ride,
already shattered before the day can start.
Faces are angry, fearful, utterly desperate,
amidst the morning’s slightly drunken foray.
No one's getting off, the bus swells and gets full,
people are crammed right into the aisles,
all of us searching this rusty, tired old bus
for just one solitary, anonymous smile.

The journey progresses, as well as it can,
speed is never an issue, let’s be clear.
It chugs along those miserably bumpy roads,
as a boy sneezes violently into his tissue, dear!
Heads are bobbing wildly up and down,
as everyone tries to grab a short snooze.
Some people’s skulls are banging off the window,
while others try desperately to shake off the booze.

Humans are totally plugged into strange sounds,
no one willing to communicate between stops,
lost in a technological, silent bubble,
with umbrellas and all kinds of weird props.

The journey continues, slow as a sloth,
people finally begin to get off en masse.
But wait! The pensioners suddenly board—
you leap from your seat. That’s the unspoken rule of class!

On it goes! We are finally getting there!
The torturous end is almost near.
You can rely on public transport, it seems...
Well, you can rely on it to show up. Just not here.