Stopped in traffic,
Your bumper glistens
In the light of the sun,
Low in the sky at this time
Of the year.
I don’t find myself angry
As time might have found me
Before.
Instead,
Here I write a letter
To you:
Dear Driver in the silver caravan,
I couldn’t help but notice
That your child
Dropped,
By accident I can assure you,
Their third grade project
Out the window
Of your automobile.
There were small red hearts
And I Love You’s;
Plenty of care
Went into it I can assume
From the crystalline tears
I saw accumulating
In the rearview mirror
Face.
I know I’m smiling now,
But don’t take it as offense…
It’s just that
I haven’t seen this sincerity
Of love
From a child
To their parent
In such a long while.
Dear Owner of the black SUV,
You cut me off so rudely
Earlier this morning,
Though I wasn’t angry
Or offended;
I’m sure you had done it
To hundreds other than myself.
I just have
One question:
If our two universes
Were to collide,
Would you see me
As flesh and blood -
With family and kin
And flaws
As you have -
Or a mechanical defect
In your perfect machine
Of reality?
Would your extended,
Metallic ego
Become shattered
Like the frames of our transportation
And possibly our bones
And the hearts
Of those who saw us destroyed?
Dear Flaunter of the fast red car,
You are on your cell phone again…
Or did you ever get off?
Your children are fighting
In the back seat,
Except for one
Who is,
Instead,
Drowning in music
As of present.
Have you said
You loved them today?
Have you told them
Of your pride?
Quick now…
Make your reconciliation
Before the sun
Is slaughtered
By the moonless sky
And bleeds out
In colors of your regret.
Quick now…
Before it’s so late;
You can’t make it better.
No,
Traffic is relaxing,
Traffic is meditative,
Traffic is meeting people.
And though I have not
Spoken to,
Touched,
Heard from,
Or came into contact with
Those to whom I have written,
I have spent time
In their company.
I have been allowed
To enjoy each quirk
And connection.
Traffic is...
vV""VIC""Vv
