creeping along 75

traffic crawls
as i sit watching
as cars dart
annoying hummingbirds
attention defecit
jumping lane to lane
getting no farther
yet traveling
twice as far
going nowhere at
the speed of
frustrated self importance
seeking to fit
in the magic space
that will evaporate
the bumper to bumper
sea of brake lights

the pink flowers
are blossoming
along the dingy median
of seventy five
having accepted
spring has sprung
a brief hiatus from
the merciless sun
in summer delusion
brimming with
a dire need to bake
the texas soil
no regard for the idiots
switching lanes only
to fall farther behind

miles and miles
steadily tick off as
i watch the hawks circle
talking to sparrows
and the curious crows
muttering all the words
full of love that seem
to stick in my throat
staying in my own lane
moving slowly towards
the next moment
remarkable the same
as the hundreds before it

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