Rush Hour

They are my rivals

and yet -
also my comrades.

Each one of them,
boldly making their way across
the battlefields of the home-bound.

Bumper against bumper,

Notwithstanding the trappings of
our own tires,
we press on.

Against the peril
of waning time,
we persevere.

Despite the dangers of
our wielding the wheel,
we march forward,


We are the unclaimed front-liners,
left to our own thoughts.
{for some, a treasured rarity; for others, an unsolicited terror}

We are the absent subscribers,
unaccounted for upon the first step before the front door.
{when the moment has at last come upon us}

We are the unsung lovers,
waiting for the moment of remittance,
{against the crude barriers of a road block}

We are the flightless birds,
lingering restlessly in a sea of frozen schedules.

We are the presumptuous cretins,
who have the audacity to dare defy the dimensions, the breadth of this world.

Mock us, if you will.
But you do not know us if you presume we will lose grasp of the wheel.

@ 2011 by Rachel Lowry. All Rights Reserved {photo vi.sualize.us}

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