Transitions are blowing
through the dashboard vent,
I can smell the cab just passing
down to the cigarette
smoked vinyl upholstery.
I come upon a wreck;
cars have spun
on the roulette off-ramp,
no one is hurt,
but there is a woman
in blue hospital scrubs.
She may have emerged
from one of the bent vehicles.
On a freeway (where no humans
usually stand), gathered
dazed participants,
having exited their cars;
no one is using their phone.
There is a palpable
atmosphere of denial,
a disbelief
that they won’t arrive
to their destinations
on time.
Your face comes to mind.


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