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Rated: E · Poetry · Experience · #2206227
Stuck in holiday traffic.
Today my patience is holiday frayed
as the traffic toots its horn.
In my Accord I’m dock-hawser tense,
bumper-to-bumper, halted.

Tight stomach, knife in my neck,
and SUV’s as far as the eye can see.
We idle an hour,
inching along…
tailgating a common theme.

Exhaust emission, smell of tar
tailpipes belching smog.
Upon this asphalt arena
traffic has nowhere
to go.

Then over there
(in the other lane)
goes the boom-boom music at will,
my skull pounded by a hammer.
Steel, rubber, glass,
this motorized throng,
(imprisoned this day)
I want to go home.

22 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2206227