KANESHIE 'TROTRO'

Picture courtesy www.facebook.com


An odd-looking beast
Adorned in peeling paint.


Rusty from head to toe,
Tyres so worn one can barely see threads.

Grief stricken engine
Nursing chronic stomach upset.


Doors threatening to spring
Loose after every leap and plunge.


Rickety’s a compliment here,
Only goodness knows the state of the brakes.

Dashboard screams of a
Carpenter and plywood.


Clumsy as can be,
Steering wheel turns in degrees of
Two perfect 360s.


Driver’s mate trolls the aisle
Blending perfectly with the interior décor
Of rust, dust and excited rubbish begging
The passing wind for a lift.


Seats so comfortable
You’d prefer standing on your own two feet,
If only you can stomach an embarrassing fall.


Backrests so unruly,
Only the brave dare lean back.


Windows with chipped gold teeth
No wonder the wind circles instead of come in.


It’s an oven on wheels,
Passengers be warned,
Bathing suits and beach towels only,
Suits beware,
This is the land of the brave.


Buttocks perch perilously
On the lookout for illegal immigrants among
The 100 year old cushions.


Passengers silently praying
A breakdown occurs only after they’ve alighted.


Circle to Kaneshie,
That’s the route,
25 pesewas per head,
Take a seat,
Tuck your hands in between your
Thighs,
Keep hoping when the bus comes to a stop,
It’s either at a bus stop or the final stop,
Because there’s nothing like enjoying the scenery
On this bus,
All you hear is the driver’s mate shouting
Kaneshie!!!! Kaneshie!!! Kaneshie!!!!
Trying his utmost best to outdo
A rather vocal engine in the twilight of a career.


Curious?
Just visit Nkrumah Circle lorry station,
Ask of the spacebus,
They only ply the Cirle - Kaneshie route,
No tickets and discounts on this ride
Just a journey through time
With your life flashing before your eyes.