Thursday, May 10, 2012


Open the lane across the way; another
Drawn out, heat stroke bay of flowering
Smells that take my breath away. Towering
Streams of greenery doth not sway the swing
Of the wind; and I cannot say, can't sing
A song in this obnoxious fray, shan't fling
Into the air any numerous words.
Here we stand, or sit I should say, in herds
Of wallowing willows; heat of the day
Sets fire to our greenery. In a way
I should be thankful I'm not walking, play
Music from the oldies; they be talking
On the radio of this fine May day,
And I could be eating, folding my tray.
On a long rampart of concrete, made clear
By the day's rolling stampede, lemonade
Strewn as-fault, this man made causeway of fear,
I cannot help but think I'd rather make trade
With those I see walking; O, such a parade
Of freedom, their greenery untouched by
The fumes of greed: all very young and spry!
Necessary evil they call it now,
Necessary; somebody kill me now!
Cause I'd rather die slowly, without pain,
Than to die in this traffic, man made bane. 
Still I suspect there's some good in this thing,
Otherwise I'd be dead long ago. Spring
Doesn't seem so long when you're walking through
An endless wilderness, Jungle of Nu.
Well I guess I've no more to say right now.
If you discover a new way, a prow
By which I may steer myself that doesn't
Involve staying behind  wheel's dent,
That is to say something more fine, pleasant,
Something that's faster, without the long wait;
So I don't feel like I'm stuck at the gate....
Let me know, and I'll buy it right away.
That would certainly brighten my poor day.

                               Traffic, (c) Luke Bennette, May 2012 

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