In Traffic

In Traffic

I hit the brakes,

and the stop

makes me think

of his death.

In traffic,

my mind

sorts itself.

I find better

plans for new beginnings

as the streets

wind under me.

Rain pelts

the windshield

and I wonder why

the shuttle exploded,

and I quit work.

I live for now

in the car,

my island

on the move.

He lies

in the casket

healthy looking

in his death

I turn into

an exit

brake lights blaze,

we stop

I think,

what is wrong,

my question

to me.

When is my turn?

In traffic,

the world is narrow

and now

the future

is now, or never, until

the driveway

approaches,

and it gulps me into

what matters,

and that is…

us.

Hayward 2006