Bastard Bus Broke Down

It began with a sigh
then a shudder and finally a delicate cough
and the audible sound of tires squelching through shit.
The bus had broken down.
An easy silence climbed out of the engine,
slithering between the oil slick pipes
and settling on the passengers,
who had nothing to say to each other.
A baby started to cry,
it was a bald baby with a bald mother.
I felt a little bit sick and almost wished
the pale flopping breast she used to stem the squalling
could have been hairy, just to balance things out.
I turned away from them, I needed to phone work
"The bastard bus has broken down."
[a pause]
"That conflicts with the needs of the business."
Accusing and harsh, I can almost smell her cigarette smoke
curling down the line to choke me.
"I don't know how to fix the bus."
"The needs of the business haven't got time for buses."
Smug and self-assured, I want to cry.
"I'll be there as soon as I can."
I hang up and notice the bus driver is sweating,
the poor man!
He is humiliated, his chariot is crippled.
It is like a failed erection for him and each passenger,
is a cruel and impatient mistress, fingering herself and waiting,
Waiting for him to fix it.
He pulls and stomps at its mechanisms
and where I am sat above the rear-left wheel
my seat vibrates desperately.
The bus and its driver are trying so hard to please us
I become vaguely aroused and clench my buttocks on the seat.
It groans and heaves, my teeth rattle together,
this bus means business!
Bastard business for a bastard broken bus!
The driver is still sweating, slicking back his hair.
The bald baby burps up sick over its chin.
Its bald mother coos sweetly.
The engine finally, triumphantly ejaculates a puff of smoke
and roars to life.
Our exhausted driver collapses back into his seat.
We're on our way again.