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.
IN YOUR DREAMS POETRY 