sun scalded eyes-
bones blasted by
the fourteenth pothole-
another
fucking taxi driver
who can’t fucking indicate-
head heavy with the pain of sunset-
what is this crap they play on the radio these days-
clutch cramp-
no Sir, I don’t have any change today-
dead traffic light-
tag on another half-hour of crawling up
the bum of the car in front of me-
mental congestion.
but you know
I’d drive
another thousand minutes of this
for coming home to you.
