Transitory Family

By this bus we are united.
Briefly we are caught up together; our fates are entwined and interdependent.
The bus slows and we all slow,
it clips the curb and we all jolt in our seats,
her phone rings and we all hear it,
his baby screams and we all endure it,
they smile and we all are warmed by it,
he lights up and we all tolerate it,
she sobs on the front seat and we all feel curious pity.

The bus breaks down and we all swarm off.
(But not quite all; one old lady stays behind, too long in years to follow the crowd. She is in no rush, and will try her chances with the mechanics.)
We all avoid saying thank you to the driver as we all leave because we all know it will sound sarcastic. We all appreciate that it’s not his fault, and we all are secretly glad of a break in routine.
We all swarm off our failed 43 and march as one to the next stop where we all wait for the next bus.

(But not quite all; I keep walking to a stop further on and so sever my ties with that transitory family.)