An Ode to the Marshrutka

I’m not much of a poet, but I decided to write an ode to the marshrutka, my daily form of transport here in Bishkek. If you like you can try to sing it to the tune of “Ode to Joy”.

Every day I end up spending
An hour on the marshrutka
A metal box with wheels
That takes me where I’m to go
There’s so many options
Routes numbered high to low
How on earth am I to work out
On which of these I’m to hop?

Photo credit: thisisbossi via Visualhunt / CC BY-NC-SA

Once I’ve jumped into the vehicle
Next it’s time to find a seat
First pay the driver my ten soms
No need for a receipt
Often simple, there’s few people
Other times I need to stand
Look that seat is free and close by
Yes I’ll grab it whilst I can!

Photo credit: Konrad Lembcke via Visual Hunt / CC BY-NC

Oh dear the marshrutka’s stopping
More people are clambering in
Looks like I will give my seat up
To the lady with the kid
Not a problem, I’m happy to do it
But it leaves me a little lost
Now I can’t see out the window
I don’t know when to get off!

Photo credit: killerbass via VisualHunt / CC BY-NC

So I’m standing in the middle
Of the aisle trying to hang on
The guy to my left’s quite clumsy
I can’t wait ‘til he gets off
When is my stop, have we turned left?
It’s all quite a mystery
Maybe I should move up toward
The front so that I can see

Photo credit: nuakin via Visual Hunt / CC BY-NC-SA

The driver’s speeding forward
How do I tell him to stop?
I don’t want to have to walk
Five miles back to where I first was
Please sir «Здесь моя обстановка»
When you stop I’m out of here
Thankfully the door’s now open
I can give a little cheer!


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