Say, you are in a hurry, your back aches and your legs refuse to go faster or they are going to make you to fall flat on your face....
You are almost late and you need to cross that darn street, a big one, full of cars, buses, vans, ambulances patroll cars runing like their houses was on fire...but you need to cross that street with red lights that every wheeled artifact will get a damn to respect so you can walk when the green signal says Walk...
You need to be an acrobat or a ballet dancer...

Going to the other side is the easy part
but deciding when will twist your brain,
Walk-Don’t Walk with not cops around
when someone decide to jump a red light.

Crossing streets should be a new science
teach in the schools to all those brats
that think the city is a Tarzan’s jungle
and they can run and jump going wild.

But, come back to my dilemma, crossing,
the only thing that I will ever ever ask,
is, “it will be safe for me to venture a foot
or a schmuck will run over me in a flash?”

Taxis, they are the real street’s Terminators
from the future with license to kill and maim,
yellow monsters like Godzilla’s clones, trying
to flat out every inch of your pitiful life.

Buses, half empty and don’t stopping, but,
with a finger he will signal another on his back,
as the rain, down from your collar to your socks,
are telling you that the flu is also no far behind.

Then, you get desperate, what the hell you said,
green, red, yellow, don’t-walk, don’t give a damn,
the street become your Bolshoi Ballet Theatre
and you dance forward among cars that crash.

On the other side a Cop want to give you a ticket,
for jaywalking and you start laughing like a mad
wet creature off of its rocket, because it’s crazy,
punished for taking, crossing the street, my chances?