there never was a moon to drag its flood
only peering faces staring as they steer to work
cold souls warming in the blowers’ gust
risen and hardly woken as the traffic queues
as the line of tail lights flickers red and stops
as their own eyelids flicker with the changing lights
green for go orange for caution stop on red
© BH, 2023
I decided to revisit such things. This is the second part of 'narrow lanes'. The full poem can be read here.
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