|
| content | |
| a morning: | |
| the freeway's thick stream | |
| stumbles to awkward halts; | |
| trapped cars, motors tensed | |
| slouch forward | |
| in vain a few feet | |
| still practicing moving, | |
| the constant | |
| disappointment of | |
| the bumper ahead. | |
| we glance into mirrors | |
| adjusting seats, selves, | |
| seatbelts, | |
| practicing patience, | |
| creating diversion, | |
| and then | |
| with nothing more left to do | |
| suddenly startle at the | |
| surprise apparition | |
| of a person | |
| in the car | |
| an arm's length away | |
| as our swarm | |
| of idle steel shells | |
| begins cautious discovery | |
| of their common content. | |
| © Jon Bohrn (1999) |
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