Bumper

bumper to bumper traffic and the light can’t find it’s way to green
we are grateful for the ability to talk at 1.34 a.m., but
the falling drizzle is deafening. And,
I look everywhere she can’t
for answers-
the woman too busy with makeup to notice she’s not any prettier,
the man singing at the top of his lungs to drown his thoughts,
the backseat child who hasn’t lived
but already knows the world better than me, and

suddenly
i need to break something beautiful, mediocre, ugly, anything
maybe her

what difference could passing this light make anyhow? threading these streets
to nothing different, suffocatingly
the radio tells me the same people are fighting again just because
we live in troubled time apparently – when was shit easy before?
as the bumper in front of me speaks truth:
“same shit, different day”

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