It’s Only PATCO, But What a Ride

(I wrist-slapped their little train transit system a bit. What?
The Inquirer Editors had a problem with its
Politically In-Correctness? Oh, well.)

It’s Only PATCO, But What a Ride

There’s a new “amusement” ride in town,
Nauseous, herky-jerky movements abound,
By trip’s end, your patience is tried and fried,
It’s only PATCO, but what a ride

Train station-to-station insanity ensues,
Loud talking and music, hard to diffuse,
Offensive smells, for the love of Pete,
And some sit on the aisle side of the seat

Those damn larger-than-life-people,
Sometimes, leave me the opposite of gleeful,
As they appear on board and drop, in a klump,
Wedged obliviously against, with their rump

Train stopping before the station, what is that?
Then stopping again, PATCO, we need to chat,
Passengers every car, every ride, fit to be tied,
It’s only PATCO, but what a ride

Incessant, ear-splitting horn-a-blowing,
The conductors’ indecipherable words-a-flowing,
Standing room only, slammed by another backpack,
I’m on a “real-train want-to-be,” such as AMTRACK

Ticket machines out-of-order and change,
More seat-sharing with Mr. or Ms. Mange,
With bad perfume, breath of garlic or tobacco,
Commuting with another wide-eyed wacko

The horror: others’ music taints my day,
I can hear it from fifteen rows away,
Trains that start-stop, with that sideways shake,
I paid for a roundtrip on a San Andreas quake

Another work meeting-killing delay – A PATCO “treat,”
Arrogance personified occupying a whole seat,
Then vs. now, belied, like Jekyll and Hyde,
It’s only PATCO, but what a ride

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