(alternately titled: Observations From My Daily 3-hour Commute, People Are Funny, I Hate the LA MTA )
Cool gray morning, punctuated by
The breathy air of the commuter's sigh.
They weave through the parking lot, hair streaming,
Jackets flapping, shoes slapping,
Ladies in heels make a sound like hands clapping.
They leap the barriers in well-dressed droves,
Unlikely athletes in their workday clothes.
Ties askew, cheeks flushed, chests heaving,
Desperation mounts: The bus is leaving!
The suited group charges, swinging their bags,
Scarves are ripped off and waved about like flags.
Ladies curse, students scream, one man throws a shoe,
But their efforts are wasted; the bus has no clue.
As it rolls away, they voice a collective wail,
All that running was to no avail.
BACONBACONBACONBACON! Late again.