Cigarette Runs and Traffic Lights
It is night
2 am
I am driving to the store for cigarettes
A short trip
Or it would be
Except the light turns red
The minute I reach it
I slow my car to a crawl
Hoping that I can inch my way forward
That if I just take my time
It will turn green and signal
My departure
It doesn’t turn green
And so I sit
At a red light
With not another car in sight
I sit tight
Just like I was trained to do
A good citizen
A willing slave
Even when it is clear I could move
Even when not a soul would be harmed
By pushing on the gas
And blowing the light
I sit in the dark
At the light
A quiet symbol of control
And wonder what it means to be free
And this is quite possibly
The greatest argument
For not buying cigarettes
At 2 am
If more people sat
In the dark
At lights at 2am
Then the makers of lights and rules
Might tremble
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