by Jessica Kraker
Vehicular congestion, the kind that leaves me a
5 minute walk from home but a 20 minute
drive in
chaos and horns. That angry dude in the Beemer
who can’t drive but God forbid you cut
in front of him.
Or when Fresh Pond Road is too backed up that
we have to take
Traffic
the Avenue behind my house where your
rims get stolen at night but where
I work in dad’s garage hiding from
mom in the afternoon eating hot dogs on the hood of the Mustang.
Johnny’s arm got broke by that drug deal down on Traffic and my
brother broke his own ass on his
board only a day before in traffic.
My sister playing catch down there
with the older guys, lost a baseball
to the train yard
Or that guy who told me to meet him on Traffic
I wish I threw him into traffic
Loud as hell bastard makes me avoid
the traffic
the movement of bodies
as I search for a green
light and an empty street
the kind only midnight brings to
me on Traffic Avenue.
