A Bus Standing By The Police Station

Whenever I see a bus standing by a police station
I am reminded of General Dyer
Facing the court-martial.
It stands in silence like him
Without a trace of remorse in its looks.
On the contrary, it radiates pride
For having sniffed out life
To teach a lesson or two to the survivors
About the superiority of six-footed fleet
Over the less equipped pedestrians.
No matter that the victim was within his right
To slow down or decelerate,
The giant is not supposed to slow down, look ahead or stop.
It blows hell out of its horn
Which in essence seems to convey:
“I am not responsible for your life.
Take heed and get out of my way… or else...”
It longs to roll down
The narrow, crowded, bumpy paths
As it does on a highway.
The moment the ignition key
Kisses the slot to warm it up,
It goes on a frenzy craving for the fourth gear
Of course, it has the necessary clout at the appropriate level
To escape its excesses with impunity.
At the worst, it would be put out of action for a day or two.
After that,
Washing off its stains
There goes another Dyer
In search of headlines…
A place in history.