I Sing the Song of a Trolleyman

Song of the Trolleyman

By Driver Doug

“I’ve seen them all:

Young and bold

Appear like a spark,

Then depart as I start

To read the latest tag

In the back rag

By the half-drunk can

Wrapped in a bag.

The ancient ones,

Full of mold and scold

Or just plain old,

Short and fat,

Or pleasantly plump.

Mind the start, mind

The bump.

As I walk the dog and creep away

From the curb; do not disturb,

Says the pass around the neck.

“Wait till I sit!”

(Prevent a fit.)

That says, I made it Up the steps!

“Step up, please!”

“Yes sir, yes ma’am!”

I’ve seen them all:

Short and fat,

Thin and tall,

Soft, rosy cheeks,

Eyes of merriment,

Eyes of distress,

Eyes of joy,

Eyes that are coy.

Yokes and cuts,

Blokes and mutts,

Bosoms and bubble butts,

Grannies, Mujercitas

On the Mission.

Grasping sometimes,

Clutching the rail.

With the smile of a mile,

The old Filipino men-

“Of Mac Arthurs’s song:

‘I will return, I’ ll be back,’

Their ball caps proud.

Or wait for the next bus,

If too large a crowd.

A Gemini refrain:

“Girls, these buses are like men

In life;

Don’t worry,

There’s always another one coming along!”

“Hey, that ‘music is too loud!

Turn it down!”

With a trolley man’s frown—

Stare, actually,

The Muni, stone face

Reaching that far-off place

We go to … we go

To return to sane,

To alleviate the pain

Of a thousand greasy wheels,

Of a thousand scratchy windows

Of a thousand aimless fluids

“Transmuted by a thousand asses

Sitting on a thousand dirty seats.

I sing the song of the Trolley Man.

Oh, you got your

Sunflower seeds

On the floor

By the door.

Cigarette butts,

Bubble gums wrapped,

A transfer in a thousand dirty pieces,

A day pass, Golden Arches remnants,

Taco Bell, dipping dot hell,

Coffee cups, coffee lids, coffee stirrers,

Needle bent, Condom spent,

Tiny zip-lock bags once containing

A fifteen-year relapse.

To keep the tweak (or)

The wake up (for),

To keep the freak At Bay

(Or) The Marina

(Or) The Trans bay

(Or) The Ferry Plaza”

“(Or) Wherever, whenever the hell

They go.

Like cockroaches when the lights come on.

I see all, give a ride

To all.

I am the Trolley Man.

The walk of shame in the morning after,

The dark, bug-eye glasses,

The hide of the passes,

Or

The hall of fame after winning another game,

A high-five as victors!

I am the vicar, the mayor, the

Bus Driver,

Who picks you up

Or wakes you up,

At the end of the line.

Engine, engine 49

Going down the Van Ness line.

If the trolley goes off the track,

Do you want your money back?”

“Last stop people!”

I go no further

Than the truth

Of your ability to read

My head sign,

My sun sign,

By design.

Shall I put up Garage?

Isn’t it great

To put in a request?

I’ve ordered a grande refill

Sitting at my table

At Starbucks.

The current ambiance:

Off-day convenience.

Ah, the buzz

Of the only pleasure left.

No punctuation worries,

No schoolmarm duress

Of creative process.

And so I sing the song

Of the trolley woman”

“Of the trolley man

From the barn,

Where expert operators

Remain.

Potrero,

Which is Spanish

For little field

Or meadow—

A patch of brown grass

Near a freeway by-pass,

A hillock, actually,

Near Union 76 gas,

Firm on Serpentine

Like a Chinese fire drill—

The New Year’s Dragon.

Do we gracefully

Glide

Down the old Mission trail.

Hidalgo’s brave stand

From Hermosillo and Sonora

All the way to Yerba Buena

Towards the Mission of San Rafael.”

“Delores, do we glide

Our sixty-foot trolleys

Side-by-side

With lo-riders, Subarus,

And asshole SUVs

With TCP stencils.

Trafico,

Trafico,

The Ebb and Flow:

Keeping our pride

And our asses

Away from the curb.

Not to lose the wires,

Not to drop our poles,

And so it goes

The operators

Of Potrero in

Turns and twists

Born from new lists

To exist,

Not resist.

To be re-grooved,”

“Retread, reworn,

Re-shod anew—

To Sit Back

And Watch the Show!”

Excerpt From: Douglas Meriwether. “The Dao of Doug 2: The Art of Driving a Bus: Keeping Zen In San Francisco Transit: A Line Trainer’s Guide.” iBooks. (Link button above)

I do my blogs to show that there is a way to love what you do, make money, and be able to keep at it by using spiritual meditative practice, in my case, by carrying a pocket notebook from Walgreens in my shirt pocket–and writing down my day’s adventures. This I turned this pocket notes into a book and share them with whoever is interested. Viola! I’m Driver Doug and my Path, my Dao is open to anyone, anywhere anytime.