Poetry is not all serious. It can be funny too. Like this poem from Wendy Cope, comic poetess extraordinaire.
You really have to be or have been a bus commuter to get the simile in this poem - comparing men to buses. Because it's oh so true!
Oh the agony of waiting on buses, for ages, the minutes stretching into what feels like hours, days, standing in the cold, waiting, and waiting, in the limbo nothingness between the end of work and the beginning of leisure time. And then when the bus finally arrives - it's not one bus - but wait - two, three, four! Oh the irony. And the ecstasy - at last - here comes your ride! Then you're all flustered as decide on which one to get.
Oh the agony of waiting on buses, for ages, the minutes stretching into what feels like hours, days, standing in the cold, waiting, and waiting, in the limbo nothingness between the end of work and the beginning of leisure time. And then when the bus finally arrives - it's not one bus - but wait - two, three, four! Oh the irony. And the ecstasy - at last - here comes your ride! Then you're all flustered as decide on which one to get.
And it's just like men. As Wendy puts it, as simple and clear 'you wait for about a year/and as soon as one approaches your stop/two or three others appear.' (And don't forget about the buses that come along 'Out of Service' - build up your hopes only to dash them - the unavailable men so to speak...)
Bloody Men - Wendy Cope
Bloody men are like bloody buses —
You wait for about a year
And as soon as one approaches your stop
Two or three others appear.
You look at them flashing their indicators,
Offering you a ride.
You’re trying to read the destinations,
You haven’t much time to decide.
If you make a mistake, there is no turning back.
Jump off, and you’ll stand there and gaze
While the cars and the taxis and lorries go by
And the minutes, the hours, the days.
That was fun!
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