I was born on a bus

I arrived with a fountain of living water

Which the bus took as first tax

I was welcomed with the wrapper of one woman

Cleaned with the saliva of another

As she welcomed me too close to her face

I came with cries from the heat in mother’s belly

To the rashes I was about to get

I came with tears

Which the bus took as second tax

I already had no privacy

My body squashed by neighboring banters,

Fights, sweat and armpits

I was a child of the bus,

My future in the windscreen,

My past trapped in broken side mirrors,

My God watching me in the rear view mirror,

My pockets empty, because

I am a child of the bus, so

I wouldn’t pay transport for the rest of my life

Winniefred F. Gbemuotor