Traffic
Aug 24 2010


At least we have the red
in common.

Obediently stopped,
we are an instant community
of idlers,
applying lip-gloss,
fiddling with dials,
reaching back
to finger-wag a wilful child.

The rule is eyes forward
in polite society.
But I can’t resist
glancing to either side,
sizing-up my transient companions.
All of us stranded, for now
in this stalled island
of city traffic.

He is a good ol’ boy.
An unfiltered smoke,
the deep bass notes
pounding out
as he drums the wheel.
The pick-up, on steroids.

She is in a small blue car
smart, economical.
In a little black dress
very hot
tossing her long blonde hair.
The irresistible toss,
and I’m caught
a second too long,
when a curious glance
turns into staring.
I feel small, furtive
embarrassed.

I wonder what they see
in me,
the inference, the certainty
the instant judgement.
Or am I invisible
as I often feel,
not even a first impression
to forget?

I occupy the middle lane
2 cars back.
I could take off for the coast
as easily as driving home,
all that horsepower
at my command.
But instead, on the green, I ease into motion
pick up speed
go with the flow.

And so we drift apart, disperse
jockey and turn.
This coterie of strangers
this oddly stable relationship,
when the world involuntarily stopped
and we held
our comfortable distance.

He breaks for the yellow
I slow.
The girl in the little black dress
goes left,
disappears into cross-town traffic.

Her jagged stare
made a lasting impression.
I doubt I made one back.