Miscreant street full of cars
bumper to bumper you push them close
jostle those slinking machines
bumping, rumbling roars of motors
as they jerk jerk jerk ever forward slightly
antsy, nervous, queasy stomached cars
rub grills and exhaust pipes
the men at the wheels
the women at the wheels
inhaling the exhale of their vehicles
some smoke cigarettes
some blare stereos
some drum their annoyance with their knuckles on the dashboard
in a hundred speedometers a tenth mile clicks
stopping, starting
brake and gas conflicting
first gear, second gear, first gear
this is the fault of the naughty street
a street with police car bars
a constricted artery
a street that doesn’t breathe
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