THE DECEMBER BUS

I’m the driver of the December bus,

Catapulting human cargo to several places is what I do,

Some of my passengers hurt,

But the shadow of their souls never dent my bus,

My bus carries you to where you wanna go,

My usual stops are Dec. 24, Dec. 25 and Dec. 30,

Dec. 24 is a popular bus stop,

Varying amounts of varying people alight here,

Celebration pervades the atmosphere,

Prosecution of fowls, cats, cows and big rats are executed,

And when the moon and the stars woke up from their slumber,

Beds are warmed,

Sounds on the streets are echoed,

And night clubs buzzed with jazz melodies,

But ultimately,

The theme of the day is deflected,

Dec. 25 is the most heard of,

A savior is delivered in a beautiful manger,

And now,

A mischievous demon is rather celebrated,

Dec. 30 is very famous,

Lot of sponges and soap abound in this stop,

Next to it is a dirty muddy contaminated dirt,

You bath and swim in it,

You return, bath and swim in it again,

The generosity of the sponge and soap is amazing,

Despite being abused,

When passengers alight here,

My lips itch,

Which force me to ask,

“Are you willing to be generous like the sponge and water?”

The replies are ambiguous.