This Bus Is A Bust

Waiting forever this morning for a second 

Cup of coffee to complete its cycle

Of brewing is like my son and I last Saturday— Sunny cool afternoon in Chicago—

Used record store, soccer game and beers

In neighborhood bar, brunch with cousins,

Street fair, rowdy onstage indie rock bands And at tail of the day our ride homeward

              (actually Airbnb-wards) 

Towards thankful rest and a warm meal

Only to become weirdly stranded,

Marooned on this urban island,

Walking in haste between bus stops 

Then languishing impatiently stewing 

On various corners, hunger pangs at first Barely whispering, eventually shouting 

(The Thai restaurant across from the third or Fourth empty corner—tables without patrons

yet refusing to seat nor feed us)

Over what felt like entire days 

Of trudging then standing frozen,

Necks craning,

Eyes peering southwards

For signs of hope, just a tiny glimmer, 

Along Damen St as the #50 bus wandered

On its wayward journey,

Optimism and transit passes 

Now wholly dimming, our rescuer and us 

Asunder, 

Predictably never quite arriving.

I’ll now sip from my second cup of Joe

To raise a tardy toast 

For our lost lamented driver..