friends on wires

 

the traffic lights all know my name

and i know theirs; that blinking red

is Rose Marie, that green arrow

is Benjamin. thus i despise

that barren roundabout i am obliged

to spin around, my path twisted

into an efficient, deserted curve,

no good old friends

hanging high with my life in their hands,

no four corners adorned

with convenience stores and crosswalks,

just a big metal box

in the middle humming away

doing god knows what.

 

Lindsay Tubeworm