Traffic Jam

030

on the highway heading north
closing in on the junction
where the route splits between
ninety-five towards Philly
and two-ninety-five
towards the Delaware bridge
nudging along at parking lot speed

my wife is driving, I’m typing
and playing navigator watching
the big GPS screen mounted
in the corner of my windshield
sipping on a sugar free
lukewarm energy drink

looking north, looking east,
looking west for words to write
finding none in this desert
of asphalt and automobile fume
slowly we move from nudge to crawl
as we claw our way through the hoard

these are the days you question
your claim of affinity for the road
these are the days that test
the limits of husbands, wives,
brothers, sisters, fathers and mothers

traffic congestion, traffic jam
more time for conversation
more time to listen to each other
more time to find that CD
that’s been sitting in the jacket
clipped to the visor collecting dust
we enjoy the background music
playing as we talk

and it was not long before
the traffic jam has dissolved
the songs are finished
the skies are cleared of fumes
our conversing continues
as we finally begin to move

Traffic Jam

on the highway today
riding up highway 95
heading towards junction
where paths split between
Philly and Delaware bridge
in a parking lot on the road

wife is driving, I’m typing
and playing navigator watching
the big GPS screen mounted
in the corner of my windshield
sipping on a sugar free
lukewarm energy drink chillin

looking north, looking east,
looking west for words to write
finding none in this desert
of asphalt and automobile fume
slowly we began to crawl
slowly we claw through the hoard

these are the days you question
your so-called love for the road
these are the days that test
your claim of being a roadie
if you’re riding, it’s more time
for conversation or writing

if you are the driver
it more time for conversation
or time to listen to that CD
that’s been sitting in the jacket
clipped to the visor collecting dust
you play it while your rider writes

before long the traffic jam dissolves
the songs are finished
the poems are written
the skies are cleared of fumes
our conversing continues
as we finally begin to move