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?
