Traffic

John D. Lippincott

Empire 2 by Alessio Romano

As night drops down his tarnished, black curtain,

And worn-out faces wear the brake light’s glow,

We sit captured in a terrible halt.

Like a heavy rock in a shallow pond,

All hopes tonight quickly sink to despair.

Blistered hands clench a fist around the wheel.

We can only wait to disassemble.

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