lights lit
on famous bridges,
some famous people,
some everyday people,
a few frustrated drivers
gone from frustrated
to irate, slowly moving in
rush hour, shifting from 1st
to 2nd gear , waiting,
and wishing for distance, hoping
to get just a little further
observing from a distance,
sitting in the far right lane,
and wondering the thoughts of the
next driver
taking off, stroking the gears,
a nice term for scraping the gears,
going not too far,
and rush hour not letting up,
pushing back the gears, sending
it back to 1st gear,
making the wait longer,
and wondering who expected
all of this!
someone’s gone past the
distance of being more than
frustrated, anger poking out,
seeing and hearing the yelling
and screaming and the only thing
handy, a passenger that didn’t
expect this either
wishing rush hour would rush the hour
by, and move out the way, but
everyone’s going somewhere,
going somewhere that’s the
same direction, making it
hard to shift into 3rd, 4th and
even 5th gear, stuck in 1st, 2nd ,
and constantly hitting the damned
brakes
rush hour, where no one’s rushing
to go anywhere, maybe they should
have called it, slow hour, ‘cause no one goes faster than slow
All Rights Reserved, 2003
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Good poem. Describes the mess perfectly.
~E