Layover

I stand here waiting for the 55
To deign to let me ride it back again.
Of course, I'd very much prefer to drive,
But with what car? Where would I park it when
I got myself back home? And so I wait,
Watching the closed doors twenty feet away,
Glad to feel the warm breeze not abate
And know that I am still, will be, OK,
Even if it never pulls up to
My stop and lets me ride until I'm home.
Still, I'll be gladder when I've gotten through
This waiting, and no longer, in the gloam
Sit watching what I need refuse to be
The help I think it ought to be to me.