I stand on the corner and watch the
Cars rush by.
The drivers, in cocoons of metal and glass,
Windows up, the world shut out,
Air conditioning on, radio LOUD,
Listening to the drive-time DJ
Serve his daily dose of stereo bubble-gum.
Where are they going, these car junkies?
What is so important
They risk their lives to bet there?
See the drivers:
A man, his face set in anger,
Huddles over his steering-wheel
Like he has to hold it on,
Fumes the traffic is too slow,
Mouths his frustration:
“For God’s sake hurry up!”
To the other drivers, who cannot hear.
A woman, her back-seat driving child
Swaddled in safety harness, safety seat,
Thumbs a text message on her phone
As the car inches forward at the lights
Like her child’s life was merely incidental.
A young man, out to impress,
His penis-exhaust throbbing,
One arm propped out the window,
The other reluctantly, insolently,
Resting lightly on the steering-wheel,
A cigarette set in the corner of his mouth
At just the right angle to make the girls notice.
Road beasts, the cars, pass by,
Spewing, roaring, rushing, purring like cats,
Deep-chested booms and stutters,
Carrying cargoes of the helpless.
What would we do without them?
No way to get from here to our next bit
Of mindless triviality.
I stand on the corner and watch the cars rush by,
And I wonder to myself
Oh, why? Why? Why?
Russell Proctor http://www.russellproctor.com