theres a highway
in my mind
a place where unconscious insects
punctuate the pavement
while intrepid tyre marks
show me
where the voices become giddy
and abruptly pause

often we’re
the collar-ed
simpletons stuck
in the traffic

all with our own
shiny car radios
bleating in the morning breeze
news headlines gush
out of them

the clean-pressed
tv anchors jabber away
into the herd of traffic
they fill our cerebral flasks
with paperclip opinions
facts and dire details
that keep us working
and our minds
behind the wheel

today i watch
that old gypsy drag
his torn suitcase
along the cement sidewalk
every day i watch
the wind argue with his
material hair

he has one
half polished black shoe
that shows us
an audience of toes
peeking from the front

his jacket is too big
and his smile too generous
for such a busy morning
he stops and watches
the naked leaves speak
and the trees shimmer

between the lines
of his road map face
i see two fingers
of tears follow
the contours of his character
and land on the suitcase


About philosopherpoet

Jon Ballam - Deep Thinker, Poet, Blogger, Mac Enthusiast.
This entry was posted in Poetry, UDPS and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to traffic

  1. Kavita says:

    In all the busy lives, there is one with “real” life! It’s only a matter of time when we see this life..

    Poignant, and very well written!!

  2. deadpoet88 says:

    Very profound poem you have here, it’s an amazing read! Thank you for sharing. The ending especially touched my heart, those tears….

  3. Thank you all for your appreciative comments. Much appreciated 😉

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