All Things Considered Poem by Scott Ransopher

Square numbers in the box flipped toward the hour
And in her car, the spotted windows sealed,
She. Measured pavement respirated foul,
Oppressive heat. The roadside view, concealed.
A yellow bus blocked all that lied ahead.
Immovable and Trapped. The air and she
Are still, beyond the city that she fled,
But passing cars still move quite swiftly by.
She cannot stand to sit behind the wheel
That's driven by another person's hand.
Her minds explodes in movement she can feel.
She, saddened, think it hasn't any chance.
But she listen to talk radio
And learn from voices while she waits to go.