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Picking my nose, scratching my head,

With a batted face, biting my nails,

I shut down my brain,

Day’s office is over again.

I pass by a public lavatory,

Without grimacing my face.

Patched by hawkers,

Nagged by assorted beggars,

The pavements are littered,

Nothing exclusive.

Standing at the bus stop

Three pass.

Finally the numbers match.

I become 81st

In “ to seat 65’s”


Stamped by a metal heel,

Knocked by a purse,

Cornered by a virile elbow,

My mammoth body least deserved.

The bus

From filled to loaded

To packed becomes;

A young boy and a beautiful girl

Get on to the bus.

Chivalrous he, accommodates her cozy,

Armoring her to a safe corner,

Protecting her from the libidos

Of this whimsical society, ultra busy.