traffic

a candy wrapper drifts down from the upper deck of the bridge

into the lanes of the lower deck, startles the account executive.

she's busy on her last few phone calls of the day.

she taps on the brakes for an instant and,

the SUV tailgating her hits his brakes,

the driver's pissed:

why don't you get off the fucking phone and drive god damn it!

the Fedex van behind him brakes harder still,

then an old man half asleep at the wheel of his Buick

really has to jam them on. bam.

an old Chevy with the stereo cranked up to ten

isn't quick enough; the driver slumped down all low and cool,

swerves into the hatchback in the next lane sending

bananas, eggs and apple juice; and cheddar-flavored popcorn

flying into the back seat, where a toddler squeals in delight,

grabs a pudgy fistful to slobber and gobble,

then tosses the bag out the back window

where it scatters across the windshield of a sports car.

the sports car caroms off the hatchback into the path of an 18-wheeler

loaded with home entertainment systems and barbecues.

then the semi jackknifes across the righthand lanes,

where a van full of engineers playing video games

on their laptops look up just in time to see the barbecues

and big screen televisions spill across the roadway.

a poet in a battered Honda

skids on one of the toddler's tossed

banana peels and joins the pile-up.

everyone behind them stops.

underneath the bridge, the ramps and surface streets are frozen.

the traffic lights go green yellow red over and over, but nothing's moving.

someone gets the notion that leaning on his horn will help the situation.

the driver of a minivan with blacked out windows in front of him,

disagrees.

fingers are uplifted,

looks and curses shoot back and forth,

doors fly open, and guns are drawn.

meanwhile.... back up on the bridge;

a young woman in her 35th week of pregnancy goes into labor.

the cool dude with the big stereo cranks up the volume.

a flock of pigeons, spots the drifting popcorn

and swoops in for a feast...........but,

a nesting falcon spies a pigeon dinner.

feathers float down and swirl amidst the shards of

broken taillights and televisions.

a banged up cadillac catches on fire,

and the passengers stumble out

still clutching their thirsty-two-ouncer-big-gulp sodas.

the driver has an idea.

they toss their sodas on the flames.

pepsi steams and sizzles on the hood.

a traffic chopper hovering close to catch all the mayhem

for the evening news, stirs up the feathers and the popcorn

and the candy wrappers, and the pages of a checkstand tabloid

with banner headlines screaming:

exclusive shocking naked lovenest........ custody battle.

everything blows into the flames of the burning Cadillac

and the fire spreads to the truck, the van,

the buick and the sports car.

the poet in the Honda, decides he's seen enough, so he

climbs out of his car, walks over to the rail and jumps.

back down in the city,

we've been waiting to get on the bridge for 40 minutes

and haven't moved an inch.  this might be a good time

to go see a movie. eat some popcorn. and candy.

and put the wrapper in the bin.

before anything of consequence results.