Traffic (a poem sprung up lately)

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BEFORE I WAS A LAZY BLOGGER, I WAS A NOVELIST AND SHORT STORY WRITER. And before that, a poet. Some undusting here. I still “am” a novelist, short story, screenplay, and assorted essays writer, but at one point I wrote a lot of poetry, like a Ginsberg/Whitman-Supermarket-bunch of poetry. Here’s one.


Traffic

I planned on being on time,

but then I wasn’t.

 

Some say traffic

is like

nothingness-

 

Some say traffic

is like

everything-

 

You never know why it happened

no one ever tells you

but every now and then

there is a pile of wreckage

and you’re like

oh that’s what it was.

 

I planned on being there early,

but the highway was full of returning saviors

and unwanted children

and burning tanks-

 

The highway was full of hopes and wishes

and alarm clocks

and anxiety dreams about being late-

 

I was delayed by relaxed shoulders

and choice of driver’s music

and rising early

and such and such

and nada Hemingway

and my happy place

which is not the highway-

 

The highway was full

and empty

of the same cars I see every day-

the same bend,

and hidden patrol,

and the first four tones of the morning news-

 

Some say traffic

is like-

 

Some say life

is like-

 

I planned on being here on time,

and then I wasn’t.

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3 thoughts on “Traffic (a poem sprung up lately)

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