Bus Poetry

I'm going to call this section, "Bus Poetry" because it serves as my outlet for boredom while sitting in "embouteillages" (traffic jams) every morning at 7 AM. I'm by no means saying that it's any good, after all, I did write it on a teeny bus.

L'embouteillage
Turn the engine off.
Tick, tick, tick.
Time has no bearing here.
Turn the engine on.
Roll past the walking hordes.
A girl in a pink Barbi poncho rides past the bus.
Turn the engine off.
Tick, tick.
Clock's are not often found here.
They serve no purpose.
Turn the engine on.
Roll down a hill.
Rush hour seems to last all day.
A fear of being late enters my head but quickly rushes out.
One cannot be late in a place with no time.
Turn the engine off.
Tick.
Need to learn how to just sit.
Not doing well so far.
All I hear is tick, tick, tick, tick, tick.

A petit haiku 
Darn, Madagascar,
Is too many syllables
For writing haikus.

Fancy Footwear 
Barefeet, walking in a line
Flip-flops, with a business suit? How very casual!
White Adidas Airwalks, perfectly untied in that "Oh so fashionable!" but entirely impractical way.
Black patent stilettos, on the back of a moped.
Crocs... they've made it to Madagascar.
Bright orange flats, that perfectly match a bright orange shirt.
Simple black dress shoes, worn in from walking.
Strappy women's white woven sandals, on the feet of a man smoking a cigarette
Purple walking sandals, perfect for carrying the baby clinging to your back like a monkey.
No feet on this street, where did everyone go?
Velcro pink princess sneakers, marching happily to school.
More high heels, on these cobblestones? Good luck hunny.
Soccer cleats, sans cleats.
Red booties, which have probably never touches the ground.
All of these feet are moving faster than my bus.