Wednesday, April 9, 2014


Yellow vest, orange straps, service cap, whistle poised between pursed lips

We're late again, security nonsense corralling too many cars, too much traffic

Sorry, mom (unconvincing)

First row a dozen deep, unmoving

Gloved arms wave, futile overkill like a wind mill in a gale

Second row half dozen stacked, stalled

Arms flop in resignation while the angry whistle blows, wind wound up by waving

Grim black set with pale blue lights, clock on the dashboard whittles down to bell's ring

Throw the dice with the spin of the wheel

Taking the empty third row and all the glares that come with ducking the masses

They'll watch for me tomorrow and harass me, get up on time instead

Yes, mom (unpersuasive)

He jumps from the car and runs as the whistle and gloves are aimed at us

Secure this, I think as I pull away into traffic beneath a fresh green light

Damned kid

We'll do this dance again, too soon

We haven't learned

Copyright 2014 Femme Malheureuse
@ApparatusMag #NaPoMo 2014 Prompt 9
Graphic: Leo Reynolds via Flickr

No comments:

Post a Comment