the Good Bus Motherhood

i've been hit by the Good Bus Motherhood.
chugging along, it drags me from place to place —
smashing my head off rocks,
smearing me through puddles.
tattered and torn and swathed in exhaust fumes,
i cling white-knuckled;
knowing neither when the next bend will come,
nor how it will hit me.
i see other adults in this same predicament:
sane, successful, good-willed people.
we nod sympathetically and call out words of cheer from under our buses.
we will never let go.