Traffic

The city is a slow-beat heart
Of autos flowing from the suburbs, glow
Of headlights fading as the sun
Golds high-rise windows. Plate glass in a row
Watch as the cars depart --
Whose drivers want to dart
In every gap that opens up,
But find the going slow --
Trucks creeping, making gaps, each moving slower by the ton
As they accelerate, one
Is riding on the bumper of a car
To try to pressure her to go
To fill the gap, though he should know
That doing so won't get them very far.
Each driver has a cup --
A plush white Snoopy pup
Is in a rearview window looking out --
Each driver has a cell phone on,
Up to an ear or glancing down to read
Or type, then slam on brakes. A couple feed
On donuts as the sun-bright dawn
Is blinding half the traffic. Others shout
At those who can't make up their minds. The flow
Is interrupted at each ramp --
It's worse when all the roads are damp --
As autos enter, exit, the flow's slowed,
Affecting all the network, every node.
And then the cars and trucks reach their day's destination
And then eight hours' work and auto's resignation
Before the autos all again depart
The city, flowing from the slow-beat heart.