I know these traffic patterns
Having been down this road before
Maybe a million times
Or more
Stuck in lanes that lead nowhere fast
Wheels spinning
Using up the expensive fuel of emotion
Sitting in diesel exhaust fumes of disappointment
Desperate for fresh air
There is a sandy shore
Just beyond this exit ramp
I have taken it a million times
Or more
And emptied myself onto the sun baked stretch
Of Long Island loneliness
Collecting sand dollars and seashells
To display where your picture once hung
I thought I had the right of way
To better days of road mapped happiness
The GPS steered me in the opposite direction
Perhaps it's antiquated technology
Never recognized the signal of my new aged heart
So I am stuck, sandwiched in, on a four lane highway
Defended by the blarring of honking horns
Creeping towards whatever lies ahead, down the road
Waiting for the light to change, anything to change
So I can make my left
Like I have done a million times
Or more
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A great metaphorical poem, Susan. (I would change 'a million' to a hundred, or hundreds tho)