Ode to an Articulated Bus

It’s been ten minutes, maybe more
I’ve stood here pacing, waiting for
A crosstown bus; it’s always late,
I’ll never make it home by eight.

I’ve now been here for fifteen minutes.
Have I seen a crosstown in it?
I’ve been waiting (and berating)
While MTA’s articulating.

It’s been twenty minutes now
I’m getting plenty sore at how
These buses never run on time;
They leave me sitting here to whine
About the service’s decline,
Too mad to even make a rhyme.

Thirty minutes is too much
Why do they call this hour rush?
And why are buses getting bigger
When we need them only quicker?
I could stand here half the night
With no buses within sight.

I think I’ll walk while there’s still light.