Sonnets from the Peace Corps Volunteers: Lament of the Bus

I sit, without a purpose or diversion.

I trade my germs with yonder spewing child.

I cannot bleat for mercy like the goats

Who suffocate, amongst the luggage piled.

Were I that chicken in its plastic bag

I could accept my fate with glassy eyes

For life would end, a-simmer in my fat,

Some hunger could be stayed by my demise.

But I am not a dinosaur reduced 

To filthy scratchings then a greasy plate,

I am adult and must pretend to patience

Though police stops make us hours late

I sit through music videos repeating. 

I can't escape this bus, hot and fatiguing.