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They pile into the rickety case,
A choking, smoking, monstrous place.
The beast lurches to life in a sickening jerk,
And the squabble inside start to go berserk.
The heap pulls into the twilight rush,
The squeals of delight, the smothering crush,
As the arrogant little terrors press against the glass,
Snorting and giggling as cars race past.
The suffocating engine has barely departed,
And already the rash chaos inside has started.
Guzzling down sweets and chomping on gum,
The road to Hell has hardly begun.
Sharp, winding corners come rushing at speed,
The massacre of confectionaries has reached its peak.
As the last of the sugar is eaten away,
The mobiles and iPods are whipped out for play.
Now there will follow an hour of beeps,
Of whirs and ring tones, where no one will speak.
This new language, of strange techno-words,
May be interrupted by the screeching as the bus swerves.
The monsters are bumped and some shaken awake,
As the juddering box makes an attempt to break.
Then, without warning, the pests at the back
Will start up a chorus of some tuneless tat.
Soon, the whole group joins in with the wails,
Warbling notes beyond all musical scales.
Barely half-way there, wherever ‘there’ is,
When there comes the inevitable, ‘Miss, I feel sick’.
The digestion of sweets at such a high speed
Was never going to bode well on trips like these.
Yet, they never learn, nor will they ever,
The greed of today’s youth will never sever.
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