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The back of the bus, the back of the bus,
the power that lies at the back of the bus!
Alone he sits, arms crossed,
nonchalant,
Crown placed firmly on his majestic ‘hoodie’.

The back of the bus,
the domain for the youth!
Alone he sits, earphones in,
uncaring,
as he blocks out the noises that mean nothing to him.

The back of the bus,
Enter if you dare!
Alone he sits, and alone he likes,
hostile,
He cannot share his throne.

The back of the bus,
No elderly allowed!
Alone he sits, condescending to those at the front,
judgemental,
he dreads the day he will join them.

The back of the bus,
No appeal for me!
Alone he sits, ever so bored,
scowling,
and all to uphold his social crown.

The back of the bus,
The king needs to leave his throne!
Alone he stands, alone he falls,
stumbles,
his crown and glory tumbling with him.

The back of the bus,
Its king stands and rushes!
Alone he stands, and passes his lowly ‘subjects’,
embarrassed,
as we think back to our rule at the back of the bus

The back of the bus, the back of the bus?
The illogical sense of the back of the bus!

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