The Human Traffic Jam

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“I’m wanted at the traffic-jam.
They’re saving me a seat.”
― Leonard Cohen

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I don’t drive,

therefore when I get stuck in a traffic jam,

I’m always a passenger along for the ride,

whatever that ride has to offer.

If it offers being stuck,

I could get out at any moment and walk away.

That’s not always a practical option,

but it’s an option,

even on the freeway.

I am not as powerless as the driver,

nor am I as powerful as the driver,

who directs the course of the vehicle.

But what about the human vehicle?

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“The roar of the traffic, the passage of undifferentiated
faces, this way and that way, drugs me into dreams; rubs the
features from faces. People might walk through me. And what is
this moment of time, this particular day in which I have found
myself caught? The growl of traffic might be any uproar – forest trees or
the roar of wild beasts.”

― Virginia Woolf

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I don’t drive,

because I was born and bred,

lived most of my life,

in hustling, bustling cities,

where the best vehicle to drive is the human body.

On the pavement I was a speedster,

weaving, swerving amongst human traffic,

screeching to a halt, revving my engine,

occasionally honking,

at a lost tourist,

who thought lumbering wandering,

was a pace to take on a busy street.

Things have changed since I moved to the countryside,

I’m just an old rust bucket now,

that goes out only on special occasions,

such as to the local fair.

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“I took the other road, all right, but only because it was the easy road for me, the way I wanted to go. If I’ve encountered some unnecessary resistance that’s because most of the traffic is going the other way.”
― Edward Abbey

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*for the photography prompt

– A Picture you took in Class/At Work/Out and About –