Traffic

Stuck, in the same seat many others

Are familiar. Confined to a lane created by

Those before us. Hands gripped, tightly around

A leather circle. Many signal and orchestrate

Cars around them as if surrounding cars

were trained musicians. Inching forward with

Anticipation and slight remorse. But I’m not

Alone in this course. Sweat falls from faces

Onto White collars, onto car mats costing

Too many dollars. Hearing too many hollars.

Another inch closer. But to what? Where?

Switch lanes if you dare. Use a blinker.

Do not linger. Move. One inch closer.

You’re almost there. Look back rarely.

“You remember how you got here?”

Asked by a passenger. Idk. Barely.