On my way back

from the pharmacy
with my chest complaint
and my bag of medication
I'm walking past
a multicultural traffic-jam

I can't hold my breath
long enough not to inhale
exhaust fumes looped
across the road

like webs in the air

so it's hard to both
gasp and enjoy
the multiculturalism
of music fist-pumping the air
from wound-down windows;

to pass the idling time
while going nowhere
drivers with one arm out
slapping their doors
aim bored stares at me

to make me self-conscious
so I might trip in slow-motion
on the unrepaired pavement
and then they'd laugh
a mocking multicultural laugh

I pass the old speckled woman

sun-drying at number 121
on the rain-stained sofa
that sets off her front garden

weeds salient fumes rampant

she's doing her diurnal sit
muttering her marbled beads
as usual begging Allah
to pull his finger out and
do what she asked for yesterday

.

Reviews

[Chris Shaw]

You brought all the traffic of the city to my peaceful morning and reminded me of everything I hated when I commuted to work:) Having said that you brought the vitality, the colour, the characters and the smells back to me, and for a brief moment I really enjoyed them Gerald. City born now loves country. The air isn't perfect here, but it's certainly a vast improvement. Good write.

Chris

[Gerald Parker]

Many thanks, Chris. I'm still working on this. I posted it too soon. I'll make the changes later today. Gerald