So here I am at the bus station,
Boarding a bus with my usual impatience.
But today I was in to much of a rush,
And should have gone before I got on the bus.
My god by the time the bus gets to the Bell inn,
The outlook for my bladder is very grim.
I hold on as we drive down Scott road,
Silently wishing my seat was a commode.
Why are we paused at the Scott arms ?
I fear I may do the driver some harm !
If we don’t immediately pull out quick,
And rescue my floating teeth.
At last Six ways draws close,
I may not have to change my clothes.
Then we get closer as the Barton Arms is passed,
And I try to stifle a windy blast.
As into Birmingham city we pull,
Time to empty the bladder oh so full.
This poem is dedicated to any commuter who like me yesterday put the need to get on a bus and get to work over the need to use the toilet first.