Stuck At A Really Long Red Light Poem by Joe Bisicchia

Sometimes seems we're stuck at a stop forever. Yet, can still dream. So it is, we can see forever by just being at rest and maybe forever is much more than the eventual green. Seems that a man's ties, often times, in shades of the same color can clash, while those of different palette can handsomely contrast. Lots to see in that.

We all may want to box things up in a perfect easy to follow erudite bow. Rabbit, run—
alliteration. Clock as a silent Samurai suddenly spinning swords—personification, with alliteration. But Time passes and it can be wordless for even an English teacher.

See, this is the thing. Even this thingamabob, thingumajig, commodity of sorts, this apparatus, contrivance, this configuration, oddity of last resorts, this mechanism of great means, this tool, this reservoir in reams, this beloved belonging, this everything in a way that is yet just another awesome thesaurus in the glove compartment of my mind, can't properly define time.

Unlike the dinosaur, the rat, a connoisseur of sewers will figure a way to last simply by just being a rat, nimble and fast, and willing to be in places everyone else runs from fast. Time similarly moves. Bide time. Wait. But don't think it'll stand still. When it seems to, well, it's only waiting to test your will. A temporary disguise. Time is that way wise, at the gate, like a rodeo bull. Then arrrummpph-arumph-rumph!

So it goes, this life everyone knows. When it comes down to it, though, not really quite sure what it all may mean. Time to go. Light has finally turned green.





Published by Anti-Heroin Chic,2017