every car drives away (a little hope)

But at my back from time to time I hear
The sound of horns and motors

~

for many months
at a time
I lose track
of the traffic sounds
that rise
and roar
from just outside
the bedroom window

my street
is a mile-long descent
and the designated by-pass
route
for avoiding the township

I liken the sound
of passing cars
and trucks
to boats and motorized vessels
afloat
on a river . . .

sometimes
the sea

today
the wash of traffic
is constant

enhanced
perhaps
by the closed-in
atmospherics
that come with low-cloud
and rain

the passage
of vehicles
leads me to a contemplation
of travel

and notions –
admittedly foolish –
of escape

~

I find my
confinement
is easy enough
to bear . . .

most
of the time

I am not
a social creature

I do not object
to donning a mask
when I leave home
to hunt and gather

groceries

milk
bread
red wine

I reside
mostly
in my own head

and do not lack
or desire
external stimulus

yet . . .

a restlessness
attempts to assert itself
within

a degree of
frustration
that has no
obvious relation
to actual occurrences
but
owes more
to the sense
of inability . . .

illegality

of having occurrences
at all

the cage
is equipped
with all the gilding
that I need

but

I listen
to the traffic . . .

the sound
of its imagined wake
as vehicles sail
along the riverine mile
of my by-pass road

and I feel the walls
and the bars –
which I know
are not really there –
grow steadily
thicker

and
more solid

I feel the erosion
of a little more
of my small reservoir
of hope
with the hushing sound
of every car
passing by me
on mellish street

~

4 thoughts on “every car drives away (a little hope)

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