A small flame

A small flame

What happens when a theologian / intellectual drives a bus . . .

. . . a Shakespearean sonnet about being a

Bus Driver
- by Philip Bramblet

My eight-wheel'ed vehicle doth run
O'er paved roadway mile after mile,
And reveth engine in rain or sun,
Outspewing toxins billious and vile;
Grim passengers transported on it are,
Embittered by lateness of the time,
Envisioning convenience of car,
Ensouring visages as though by lime
Unmixed ingested; thus they ride,
As I, unmoved mover in my throne,
All shiftless, shifting weight from side to side,
Imagine me the swiftest eagle flown;
Then, stomping pedal, riders screeching, "No!"
Like father Jehu*, furiously I go!

* Again the watchman reported, “He reached them, but he is not coming back. And the driving is like the driving of Jehu the son of Nimshi, for he drives furiously.” - II Kings 9:20


Donette said...

Now THAT is funny! What vocabulary he has! Thanks for the chuckle this morning!

Crazy Mom said...

LOL! Glad Phil let you share this! I love his humor - it ALWAYS cracks me up!!! :)

Karen said...

This is great! I love Philip's writings and wish he would do more. :^)