old-time poetry

I found some amateur verse from the old electronic archives today. I seem to have written it in October 2002, when I used MARTA more often than I do now; here goes nothing:

walking steadily to keep time
with a bus approaching
it's a race to survive
the fumes and fury
of rush hour

why do they desert me
when I'm in a hurry
i see too many of them
when I'm not

PS:: The title is a play on the name of a rather interesting store that I discovered some months ago (the only branch in Georgia, as it turns out)