Ode to the Bus

A poetic narrative in the freest free verse ever writ:

Metro Transit, what joy to me you bring.
I f'ing love riding Downtown.
Route 6, (minus the time that guy got stabbed) is where I long to linger.
In the window I pinch a finger.
(Crap. That hurt.)

I drift off into sleep when my head jerks back
Awake (Did I miss the stop? Where am I? Is that drool?)
I lean head-on-arm and slack-jawed again
Until Southdale.

And now, an interlude:

To the driver whose socks are long and smiles thin:
It'd be sweet if you were cheerful like the other guy. He always says, "Have a good one." Don't you want me to have a good one?
Oh. Well. Now I know.

To that lady wearing the stank ass perfume:
Don't do that anymore. No, I'm not kidding. You smell ridiculous. Can you smell that? It's you.

To the guy who checks out EVERY woman:
Oh, now. Please. Ew. Go sit with the stinky lady.

And now, a conclusion:
Fin.