Commuting

I sat on my porch – amidst the new Spring pollen –

watching the post-work commute. It’s not a busy street

running by my front door, it’s just a busy time of day,

though maybe the street is busy, it’s hard to tell,

but from time to time (all day) it bustles.

It feels quiet except for the constant thrum of the highway

at the bottom of the hill.

 

And I hate the noise,

but I watch the people in their cars –

who gives a damn about the Earth –

even here in “green” Portland, OR –

one person per vehicle –

and I hated them not because they didn’t care

about the Earth, but they didn’t care

about each other in their own personal

rush to be somewhere because they’d just spent

nine hours – likely more – at a job they didn’t care for

and they just want time,

 

Time to sit with their spouse, watch their children at play,

curl up with a good book and a glass of wine,

but they can’t because there is no time

because tomorrow is a new day and they are slaves

to a broken system of profit grabbing and employee

abusing and they must get home to prepare

for the next day of indentured servitude,

 

And the stress of having to go back to this world

Without respect for time

And compassion for others is why I can’t sleep at night,

forcing me to vomit these words onto the page

because I am sick of the hate of these people in their miniature, metal, mobile

homes, reminding me why this country is a mess,

 

and how we could be so much more if we just didn’t pull into the

intersection, cutting off the traffic moving crosswise

because we had to be next,

because we’d waited too long,

 

and what if, instead,

we exercised patience and thought about

the other person, and how they were trying

to get home to their front porch too?

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Time

The familiar light blue and slate gray

of Bell Atlantic sits on every anonymous

corner, in every out-of-the-way space.

The regular dented black box,

tucked into a corner holds the usual

metallic gray keypad. A black handle

connected to the box

by the same cold gray, flexible cord. The

vertical slot at the top,

still waiting for a quarter –

 

How much does it cost now?

 

Beneath the black box,

a loud yellow box with a

horizontal slot and a picture

of how to insert a credit card.

A credit card?

 

There is no door.

How does Superman change into his cape?

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