the traffic lights swing
back and forth as the
blustery winds rock my car
i sit alone
in the middle of nowhere
as the hawks circle
listening intently
to the words of a fool

i cannot tell if it is
the gales making the treetops
shake like pom-poms
the swirling mass of
shaken leaves spins erratically
or if this is a manifestation
of the agonies humming
along my trigeminal nerve

so i sit patiently
letting the nausea pass
rocked in my cradle
wondering if i have become
pooh bear as this blustery
day takes over my hiding spot
in the hundred acres of woods
somewhere nestled between
hillsboro and home