‘Twas the Bus To Arizona: 140 Characters at a Time

When you’re nothing left to do, you tweet a Christmas love affair to Greyhound’s PR. 

Twas the bus to Arizona, when all thro’ the bus, Not a creature was stirring, not even the guy on his device. 

The luggage was stowed away with care, in hopes that Arizona would soon be here;
The passengers were nestled all snug in their seats,

While visions of clear highways danced in their heads. 

The guy in the seat next to me with his headphones on and me I my headlamp, 
Had just settled our brains for a long night of traveling—‌
When in the row behind me there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my seat to see what was the matter.

Away to the aisle I flew like a flash,
Tore off my sleeping mask and threw the book from my lap

The glow of the hazard lights,
Gave the illusion that this ride will never end;

When, what to my wondering ears should appear,

But the driver on the speaker, and eight tiny decrees,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment this nonsense would end quick.

More rapid than eagles his lessons they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and call’d them out by name:

“No leaving your seats! No smoking! No Alcohol or drugs! No loud phone calls! No talking to the driver! No disturbing the others! No bothering the rest!”

“To the back of the bus! To the front of the seats! Wear your headphones! Wear your headphones! Wear your headphones all!”

As quick as the carry ons are grabbed when you arrive, the phone call that was too loud, 

Went silent from the behind;

So on went the Greyhound on down the road, the wheels rolled on, the miles how they flew,

With the bus full of riders—‌and a stern driver too:

And then in a twinkling, I heard from the seat just to the rear an apology and an excuse me” from a very meek little voice. 

As I drew in my coat, and was turning around,

Down went the phone without even a sound. 

He was sorry he’d disrupted us from his head to his foot. And his face was tarnished with embarrassment and guilt;
A bundle of texts began to flow from his hands, 
And not another word was spoken from that loud little man:

His screen—‌how it twinkled! His silence: how merry,

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry;

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the silhouette of his face showed the phone’s soft glow; 

The buds of a headset he tucked tight in his ears,
And the conversation held encircled his head like a wreath.

He had a foul mouth, and a little round belly

That shook when we hit bumps, like a bowl full of jelly:

He was cursing and rude, not at all like an elf,

And I laugh’d when he was hushed in spite of myself;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not another word, but went straight to his chat,

And finished that convo without being a brat,
And laying his finger aside to the volume of his phone

And giving a nod, not another word arose.

He stayed in his seat, the rest of us he acknowledged,

And away the bus flew, with the speed of a greyhound:
But I heard him exclaim, ere we drove out of sight 

No more eavesdropping you bitches, and to all **** ** ***.