The Bus That Travels Miller's Way Poem by Richard D Remler

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There is a bus that travels Miller's Way.
And its tires flatten every day.
And when they don't, and you can ride,
The bus tips over on its side.
And when it doesn't, you can bet,
It will flood, and you'll get wet.
But if it does not spring a leak,
It'll fall, for sure, into the creek.
It's cylinder's will all go boom and snap,
And it'll close in on you like a trap,
And every single spark will gap
Until that final screak.
And if it reaches Larson's Fair,
Oh, you'll be in for quite a scare
As the Driver swivels through each lane
As though he were but a tad insane.
Now, the Driver, he's a kind old bloke
Who'll stop the bus just for a smoke,
And oh, he'll stop it on a dime
If his nervous twitch declares it's time.
And the breaks will squak and grind and squeel
Just like Achilles rusted heel.
No, there is not much good that I can say
About the bus that travel's Miller's Way.


Copyright © MMXII Richard D. Remler