The Commute Poem by Joseph S Pete

The NPR would flicker on.
The dulcet stream of solemnly intoned
news would flow in softly and warmingly
like an intravenous morphine drip.

The car would roll past a too-familiar landscape
as if on autopilot.
The same stop was made at the same coffee shop,
with the same order every time.

Tired scenery passed by blandly,
the only thing in question
was whether the preferred parking space was still open
and what the day would hold.