Every morning, a rude pungent smell.
Like a slap in the face of terrible odors.
Some of the indigents are chanting decrepit songs
Out of tune and out of place.
Others conversing within themselves, with the wildlings.
The short bus is so loud!
So many voices.
Some hard to comprehend, some very distinct.
From the sane bus driver to the sectarian
From the handicapped seat to the man shouting
"Do you know the Son of God!",
From the toothless, yet ruthless one
To the obese male in the Santa suit,
From the ex-psych warden
To the one with copious amounts of facial art,
There's perfectly ME! I, who is
Just as ruthless, just as handicapped,
Just as psychotic, just as loud,
Just as wild, just as different,
Just as within, just as sane,
Just as ME
Just as perfectly colored.
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