Muttering - Improvising

I was in the search for poetry well made,
But found the definitions vague.
How could I deign to try,
In hope that the concepts involved float by?
I ran out of water 'fore the day was done.
I was tempted to purchase a beverage after my run
To the bus stop. (I run everywhere)
My drawstring bag had snapped - broken beyond repair.
I received it as a freshman at college
Along with other cheap gifts as tokens of knowledge.
Though emblazoned with the university's name
My secondary carrier's manufacture appeared ship-shod and lame.
I sighed and tied it to my backpack,
But the drawstring still had too much slack.
I interwove it with the shoulder straps.
But by my side, my extra books went [slap-slap-slap].
Annoyed with the pendulum ramming against my legs,
I cradled it like a running back in the game of the age.
The weather was drizzly and drippy - Overcast with grey.
I found a dry spot on the stone barrier by the stop's way
Waiting on the public transport to carry me home.
The bus arrived, the driver to me was known.
He had been an old favorite, until a recent episode.
I grimly approached the hissing, beeping door,
Flashed my student I.D., swiped my pass, walked the aisle floor.
Settling down in the back by the fan,
Read some modern poets to study for a class I am in.
My eyes grew tired, my wakefulness fled.
I napped shortly, though sitting and not in bed.
I woke in time to disembark near my home,
Got in my car, drove off alone.
I listened to a soundtrack on a CD,
Pit-stopped a a gas station to get fuel for me.
Mountain Dew: Code Red from a fountain I take.
It is just what I need to keep me awake.
Then off to labor for a paycheck on this rainy evening.
I smiled in the comfort of the motions I am completing.
Life is satisfying, even when it rains.
The streets' debris are washed into the guttering drains.
And so with my week - it feels like a clean slate
I feel touches of the divine, though small and innate.
I mutter sweet praises under my breath
For He who gave me life at the cost of His death.