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.

Scars

Blood runs blue from the outside

Until curiosity builds too strong

What courses thru us takes human shape

Once a wound can be examined

A story is told of how it opened

Bravery takes a hand and moves it to feel a scar

But hope keeps one finding out more

As a finger’s path exposes each pink bump

Inconsistently weaved in one’s skin,

A story is told of how it opened.

A finger reached smooth skin

But hated how flat it felt.