Bus Jungle

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A school bus cruises by.

What does one think of?

School, homework, or the bullies that have made us cry?

I think of a jungle.

A jungle, with vines crawling over the walls,

With each student causing a great rumble.


The elementary kids dominate the front.

They toss food and toys at each other with glee,

While the receiver catches the object with a grunt.

Some have their eyes glued to their games,

Engrossed by their electronic melee.


The middle schoolers,

They feed on the coffee beans that sprout in the middle of our bus.

They scream and run around, each thinking they are rulers.

They shriek and screech like hormone-filled howler monkeys,

They scuttle and cluck incessantly like anxious chickens.


The high schoolers.

They perch on the back of the bus,

The females chattering to each other in squawks and squeals.

Their hair, their status, their outer beauty is an enormous fuss.

The males try to stay out of it by relying on their iPods to shut out the ordeal.


Life on the bus,

Is it a test?

Is it to find out who is the best?

Survival of the fittest,

That’s the rule.

The losers of this game aren’t so cool.





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