The Woodward Bus Poem – James Schwartz 

THE WOODWARD BUS POEM

The bus downtown is wild sometimes. 

There was almost a fist fight Saturday night.

Of course Saturday night.

One morning someone refused to wear their mask,

So the bus driver pulled over &

Yelled at us…

Detroit rides their buses. 

Cheaper than buying & maintenance & Michigan auto insurance…

Up 

&

Down

W

O

O

D

W

A

R

D

We flow. 

Slow.

With coffee breath behind our masked sleepiness,

Detroit Bold – Woodward blend, 

Going to work, 

Watching out for our stops,

& the graffiti colored bricks (“Where’s the money?”) 

Which blurs the cityscape before us,

The bus was standing room only tonight,

Wild to find oneself swinging from a bar,

While careening down 

W

O

O

D 

W

A

 R 

D

W.  G R A N D  B L V D. 

This morning Grandma reads the news,

From her phone aloud to us,

“It’s Obama’s birthday today!” 

Several passengers hum in acknowledgment,

“You think he’s smoking a cigarette?”

The bus cackles.

“When he was elected President,

His hair was black, when he left,

It looked like he worked at Chrysler-Ford!” 

The bus roars with laughter.

“I wouldn’t want any job like that!”