Last Bus To Baton Rouge

The premise was simple in hindsight,
catch a ride to Baton Rouge,
get on a plane, and be home by night.
I think it was some crazy twist of fate,
or the half bottle of Royal Bruise,
but I got to the bus station late.
and had to buy the last ticket at double rate.

The stinky lurching bus headed west.
On Interstate 10 I went to sleep,
dreaming of travels easy and blessed.
My Saint Christopher in my palm,
we rolled past cars, trucks, and a Jeep,
broken down on the neutral ground.
I awoke to a strange grinding sound.

With a shudder, hiccup and cough,
the bus wheels stopped turning
and the old diesel engine shut off.
"whirrr, whirr, whirrr...vrrrrr.
Silence as the starter stopped churning.
"Looks like I need to call back to the TA.
They will send another bus our way."

An hour and a half later a new Greyhound
pulled up behind our silent hulking beast,
engine roaring with a welcome sound.
"45 minutes to Baton Rouge, climb on in."
I missed my flight by an hour at least.
Take it from me; you are destined to lose
if the last bus to Baton Rouge you choose.