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Traffic Jam

Wishing to travel quickly,
we envy flight of slick cyclists
lane clean as a whistle,
smoothly moving on their uncluttered highway.
An ambulance siren’s heard.
Has to travel faster than
the early morning bus full  
gazing sullenly at its blacked out windows.
We slow It ignores red lights,
sways, vanishing out of sight
while we, relieved, slip back into gear.
Lifes stakes are fearfully high,
one miss timed heartbeat away.
The traffic’s funereal march proceeds,
reprieved, as if by settling a debt.

10 Aug 17

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