DREAMING OF A TRAFFIC JAM

 (i)   

For years, getting caught in that

clogged runnel was the bane of your

urban evenings. The smoke, the grime,

the ear-splitting violence of honks

on steroids and the exhaustion of your

own desultory existence; it was as if

that stretch of the road -- congested

with smoke, breath and aggression was

a living embodiment of your brittle,

bitter self. Every evening while surviving

another ordeal in this snarl, you wished

you never had to take this route again.

(ii)

You dream of that clogged passage now.

In your new lane-sharp world, smoke

and noise are absent. The fight with

the mind has ebbed too, a function of

middle age and frosty climate. Yet,

without much planning or forethought 

to the overwrought atmosphere, you 

daydream of crowded markets and

deafening car honks. You envisage 

waiting in that maddening traffic tangle. 

So that when the snarl-up finally clears, 

you can take a left turn 

and go straight home to Mother.