Poetry Bus Poem - something a bit unreal

So this week's poetry bus is being driven by Pure Fiction... the instructions were along the lines of

"I want proof of higher life. I want uplifting stories of helpful spirits. I want stories of joyful moments of synchronicity that couldn’t have happened without the intervention of some higher power.
I want joy, I want tears, I want laughter, I want truth. I want moments or stories where the real world grazed the spirit one. "

Most stimulating and imaginative, I think you'll agree. So my little effort is below - I think I'm still recovering from doing the driving last week - so to find some even better bus poems - be sure to call over to Pure Fiction here...

The Extras

We, the hundred extras, we play a million parts

Tickets takers, people in the next chair,

At hairdressers, on the bus, we’re farmers at the mart

An exhausting tour, demanding schedule

We watch your every move, we read your blog

And we are cursed, damned to share your knowing smiles,

We compliment your dog,

Forced every day to follow you, we’re ready in a squint

To play soccer in the park, or stroll along the path,

or dressed nicely exit church, leaving pretend mass,

or stage a real mass if you choose to go

or offer you a mint

An endless show, the costumes, make-up,

Different walks, traits, all skills mastered,

Just as extras in your life, the people you won’t know

At concerts we’re the bouncers, late - the band,

Take turns at bumping into you, jumping tight and close to you,

The rest of the crowd are CGI, and traffic jams are planned

Remote controlled by the producers, we cautiously swap cars,

Keep a flow of angry looks, we look convincing

We change our clothes in time to queue with you

For a taxi driven by another of our number

Be nice to us, we’re here for good, and we’ll return the favour.