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baby by David Wiggins


∴ gridlock grip

radios rage
harsh horns 


blameless
invisible hitchhiker
riding shotgun
with their baby’s spirochete-shaped toys 


no hoarder of keepsakes
yet these toys remain
unbidden, in the car’s confines 


navigation fogged
voices speaking foreign
lost in tongues unknown 


a throng of commuters
thundering past
a stampede of haste 


temperature spikes
engine protesting
overheating in defiance 


tires wearing thin
tread fading fast
inch by weary inch 


angry gestures fly
as vehicles creep by
their impatience palpable 


brakes fail
a screeching wail
sqreeeeeeee
head-on collision 


a breath. a release 


a moment’s caress of this chaos
a minor delay 


homeward bound. soon
i’ll be on my way ∴



https://poetryandphoto.wordingway.com/?s=Spiro

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