Traffic labored haltingly
On pavement bathed
In summer sun,
Pent up there and idle
Hemmed between a headlong
Sprint held lifeless
And this subsequence
Of brakelight stains
Like ranting pulses
Saying stop but crushing
Forward every fractioned inch,
And miles to go.
Miles of cut-short starts
To stew beneath a stone July
Whose end comes never
Fast enough,
Until it does
And I scream STOP
Into the windshield
Searing because I want to run
So fast and traffic has me
Rolling over every past
The wrong direction,
Like it shouldn’t be the end
But I can’t wait to hit the brakes
And turn around for you
To say don’t go,
Like I begged so uselessly
While I drove away.

#London #England

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