Bus Ride

I wrote this one sometime in the fall of 1968.   Found I could still recite it in full, so here it is. 

I was riding alone on a bus one day
When I met a man who was far away.
I told him much that I had to say
And left him feeling old and grey.

I told him of my views on war,
On politics, and baseball score,
But when I said, “And furthermore—”
He told me I was such a bore.

Undaunted by his criticism,
I spoke for hours on Communism,
And mentioned I had been in prison—
Until I saw there was a schism
In our relationship so grand;
For, though he saw I took a stand
On all that I could not command,
My cigarettes were not his brand.

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About therevr

A human being, striving to become more so.

Posted on September 10, 1968, in Old, Poetry. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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