Traffic

 
 
In some traffic
A man sits
And squeezes his steering wheel.

In sole train focus
he sees the world
So fraught and tense.

He aches with angst
And longs to be
Somewhere else.

And slowly, clouds roll by.

He sees himself
Somewhere to be
And not here now in traffic.

And no speed sufficient
To quench the furious fire
Of need to move his car.

And still those clouds roll by.

People pass in quiet moves
As he moves
In his world past them.

And they in theirs.
In quiet preoccupation
With cage frame mysteries.

And still those damn clouds drift.

Mechanical chorus as
Things change and move
Onward.

As slow drift nonchalant the clouds move.

And no one sees but him.
How he seethes with goal
Unfulfilled.

Yet still no effort by clouds.

How we try to make
Our lives
Yet they have somewhere to go

Already.

Like clouds.
 
 

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