Writers like to talk about how things are or were “bustling.”

The market was bustling on a bustling street corner.
In a bustling bakery, the muffins bustled in the oven.
“Don’t worry, Rupert, the bus’ll be bustling by in five minutes!”

I mean, I get it.
Bustle is a good word.
It makes total sense.

Whenever I’m in a group of more than three people,
all I can hear in my head is
bustle, bustle, bustle, bustle.

I say it to myself, silently,
even when peoplе appear
to be trying to start a
conversation with mе.

A cute girl may be right in front of me,
looking at my face and mouthing sounds,
but all I can think of is
bustle, bustle, bustle, bustle.