Irrational Express

I  confess,
if I may digress,
once again in pain upon the National Express,
did you pick your nose and wipe it on your dress?
Nice.
Nine hours heading south
Are you coughing
not covering your mouth?
Thanks,lank haired skank.
Dormant dozing
float away
drooling on the motorway
then home.
Please don't shout on your telephone,
hardly tactile,
lives broadcast on your expensive mobile.
I certainly won't miss
the strong smell of piss,
eau de toilette
a journey to remember I'd rather forget,
being cornered and told jokes by lonely folk.
Sad tales
from real ale drinkers
winks and nudges,
a drudge dying of boredom,
cussing in a bus-full
of people deficit of decorum