Come on, stranger, sleep now
so I can continue pondering on
the evils of congestion: suffering
from a cold aboard Worthy Transport
with full-blast aircon, losing comfort
that should have been spent stuffing
myself with a home-cooked meal instead of this
bottleneck ending at an exit to the city hall.
Come on, stranger,
don’t look at this
poem I’m writing, I will
make it illegible.