Ode to the 16 Bus

Yeah, you keep me waitin sometimes, make me wonder if you really care.

Like, what was that shit you pulled the other week, on the 90 degree day with 87% humidity, when you made me wait so long
the sweat stains on my shirt resembled Rorschach figures?

I did not appreciate that.

But, likes always, after cursing your name a few times in my frustration,

you pulled up to my corner, lookin like you always do,

your driver actin like you didn’t miss the last two times on the schedule,

your insides buzzing with that cool, artificial air that makes me feel so good.

I sat down, found my place next to the window, unless some idiot forgot that

that seat is actually mine, goddammit, even if he had no idea.

Actually, this whole bus is mine.

I mean, I feel like we’ve gotten close, you and I, after all these rides.

You, takin me where I need to go – along University, from St. Paul to Minneapolis, then Washington Ave across the river,

bumpin along the edge of the West Bank (cause of all the potholes), and then

finally into Downtown.

Me – your faithful rider, gettin cozy in your faded blue seats scattered with crumbs.

Sittin there, looking out at my beautiful city,

plugged into my music, maybe sometimes getting into the song a little too much –

my foot tapin,

my head boppin.

But I know you like it.

Sometimes I’m not so happy.

Like those days tears ran down my face, my mascara coming with them,

and I just turned to the window, trying to be inconspicuous.

I knew you felt bad for me then.

Or that time I was real pissed off and started writing angry poetry in my head,

you trying to be like, now Emily, chill out, don’t hurt someone,

look at all the nice passengers around you.

And yes, I’ve ridden other buses, but shit, they don’t compare to you.

Like, the 8 is kinda wimpy – it only goes a half, no a fourth, of the way along Franklin.

That just ain’t enough for me.

And the 21 is cool, but really, I can’t deal with all the transferring it has me doin.

So, I’ve decided: you’re the one.

Maybe sometimes I’ll get mad at you, but damn, I can learn to forgive.

And I’ll always love that you never seem less interested if I’m not lookin my best.

So here we go: I’m gettin on and we’re riding together again,

forward along the pavement.