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Traffic

Richard K. Williams

Finally, I realize,
what I hated most
about New Jersey.
Traffic
1990,
New Years Eve day.
Some fool,
unable to operate
his fire alarm
demands my service.
On the job,
I received a call,
my father is dying.

Like a man on fire,
a zombie possessed
in a frenzy fleeing
then abruptly, frozen.
Trapped,
in bumper to bumper traffic.

Creeping, crawling
out of Jersey City
I sit helplessly.
Pummeling the steering wheel
a madman.
Listening to my pulse
pound in my ears.

A second call,
the voice
informed me
my father,
Is dead.
No good byes.
Too late!
That’s why
I hate,
traffic.

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