BEEP! cut off--
::breathe:: head back, sinking deeply
as the red taunts me. i was robbed.
yellow ribbon, straight as arrow
invisible from up there?
i see lips move - HEY! WTF?
but i, unmoved,
smile up at the rage
contained in the box that cost more than a house
beady eyes and beads of sweat dart across nameless faces
and the faceless names of status symbols, circling
round and round the rotary
forget how to make their exit.
morning routine: judging you from my clunker.
but i feel a twinge of guilt as i drive by the girl
who always walks across route 9
with three ripped bags
and greasy hair.
regal, no sign of bitterness from
almost achieving national prominence,
nor jealousy of your bald-headed rival,
you strut. across the yellow line, through
four lanes of gaping mouths
that probably ate your brothers and cousins last November;
through four lanes of squealing brakes and spilled lattes;
through houses on wheels and impatience.
oblivious to the urgency, you strut.