Bus Stop: Cherry Coke

This is a special post. It features Gringa Bestie (GB) experience on the bus but in poem. She has asked me to give a disclaimer about her abilities. She is not a poet and that she wrote this as a request from me. All in all, she is a good writer and maybe in the future, if she agrees, I’ll feature some more of her work.

 

On the bus today, this little old lady talked my ear off about cherry coke.

It was on sale, or she wouldn’t have bought as much as she did but she did buy it.

I tried to tell her that I should go check out the same sale, but she kept going.

She said that she doesn’t like regular colas but likes cherry coke.

Not pepsi cherry, but cherry coke.

I tried to mention that I like cherry coke too, but she kept going.

She said that she’ll sometimes drink cream soda or root beer while preferring ice water or milk.

Not warm milk or with ice in it, but ice cold milk.

I tried to mention that I hate milk, but she kept going.

 Not skim milk because that shit’s colored water.

Two percent is best.

I tried to ask her which milk she bakes with, but she kept going.

And she almost didn’t even leave the house today, but she’s been sick so she said to herself that she had to get out.

I tried to mention that I was just sick too, but she kept going.

She said that she left the house if for no other reason than to be around other people and to buy cherry coke.

I tried to tell her that I thought that was a perfectly valid reason, but she kept going.

She was only on the bus for five minutes.

And when she got off, the driver said “Woo! She was a talker.”

I agreed, noting to myself that she was me in forty years.

Signing off, TWS & GB

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