he acknowledged her honk and let her pass,
while doing so she rolled down the glass
“you” was all he heard..and didn’t see a thing
“my pleasure”..he responded..urbane upbringing

out came the hand..”why would she wish bye!!”
popped up a finger giving new meaning to her cry.
“the pleasure would be greater” this time he replied
demeaning whatever the middle finger implied

six inches ahead and half a foot beside
a crawl through the traffic, call it a bike ride
the honks of fellow “riders”,the expletives of pedestrians
the 10:30 deadline, yet another one in the crazy 6 billion.

look not at for whom the red glows
better watch out for who follows.
rather commit the sin and break the traffic rules,
than be hit by those who harbor no such rues.

the roads bear a testimony to the telephone dept. efforts,
new lines is what they lay, and old lanes end up being hurt
thee may pay the road tax, but the road ain’t thine,
on it would walk the herdsman, and his herd of bovine.

then there will be thumbs, of the hitchhikers
and the pleading eyes, of the old lady with walker
then the daring presence of those who clean the road,
and the ever distracting, newly laid billboard.

and yes the school kid, with school on other side
the road is her,and you, an object of deride
she would cross and if lucky, would reach her school
you would do that screeching brake, you would loose the cool

then one will meet an accident, another life will be lost
people will gather and gossip, for a while there will be chaos
then a wave of time will put things back to place,
the dead will be taken away, to their work others haste

everyone one road has a own destination to reach,
each new step that they take,has a new lesson to teach.
lessons come with lesions, and with them you ought to walk,
the dead is gone and would remain, only in someone’s talk.

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