Hour One

Boxed in on all sides
wrapped in rush
like present,
waiting…always waiting…
to be opened
to move forward.
Inching my way
with the masses at my back
other fellow travelers
on this expanse of gravel
and boiling pavement.
Like worms
burrowing through soil,
I compost the the fumes
of deragatory words
and shaking fists-
the blare of horns
a curse upon my ears-
my heart.
Life in a box
booming with music
from an open window
carrying a tune,
a rhythm in tow.
Others, white knuckles
on wheels
some brass with eyes
watching, assaulting the dash.
The necks elastic
as all must take their turn
to observe-to witness.
For some, a prayer
for yet another driver
peeled from the stony pavement
and wheeled off.
A moment of curiosity-
a breath of relief
that it isn’t one of us.
Forgetting the scene
moments after the pass
or the image lingers
like an unwanted passenger-
a hitchhiking reminder
as we drive our way forward
to our intended destination
grateful that we’re
given the grace to arrive.