Traffic, C5, 7:00 PM

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.

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