Jack Henry

stuck in traffic at 530am on my way to work

traffic’s bad today
well, at least, worse than usual
i don’t like using the word worse in a poem
but this time
it fits

the usual traffic is a soul sucker
read in Time Magazine
your lifespan decreases a minute
for every minute you sit in traffic

locked in a metal box
all us lemmings queued up
inch by miserable fucking inch
we go

every day i almost die in traffic
the lunatic fringe surrounds me
maniacs race for every foot forward
brake lights flicker like sparklers on the Fourth of July
Death Race 2000 on speed

this morning
i pulled next to a young entrepreneur
in a new BMW
leaving 100-foot gaps between cars
i scream my profanities
but he just smiles languidly

his co-pilot performs fellatio at 530am
his head bobbing, up and down
i can’t imagine performing fellatio
at 530am in the morning
stuck in traffic

i’m not opposed to fellatio in a car
in traffic on a freeway
but at 530am i am pretty much
opposed
to everything