An Ode to BART

Oh BART,

how do I loathe thee?

I loathe thy noisy trains,

so loud I cannot think.

I loathe thy overly fragrant passengers,

both those who never bathe,

and those who bathe in cheap perfume.

I loathe thy decaying stations,

I loathe thy brutal cops,

I loathe thy disintegrating tracks,

and thy rickety cars, 

and the way they combine to cause delays,

each and every day. 

I loathe the crowding on cars,

the criminals who lurk,

I loathe the urine soaked stairwells to the streets.

Yeah, I think I'll drive.  

I know, it's not really poetry, but neither is riding on BART.