I-95

I-95 “Ya got the horse race Ya got the dog race Ya got the human race — But this is a ratrace” ~ Bob Marley and the Wailers, “Ratrace” from the album Rastaman Vibration (1976) Across Boynton Beach ran a popular road known as Gateway Boulevard. Commuting to work on it each weekday morning the traffic moved like lard Cruising past Motorola, eastbound vehicles mostly went single-file In the right lane starting at Congress Avenue, dragging through all the half-mile Along Quantum Boulevard and High Ridge Road, where long stoplights delayed the dull drive Until the right turn to the onramp that dropped to the highway called I-95. We’re getting on I-95, in line, we’re getting on I-95 The road never ends but as long as we’re friends we’re all getting on I-95. Florida drivers were cool and unhurried; some surely could be terribly slow. Old codgers wearing old hats had no clue they impeded the old traffic flow. I’d blow past all of them, taking the left lane; I most every day made the pole Up at the High Ridge Road light. Once it turned, I’d just kick it in and quickly roll Forward, ahead of the slouch to my right, so that at the onramp I’d arrive Long past the long line of travelers waiting to turn onto I-95. We’re getting on I-95, my friends, we’re getting on I-95 It makes us feel proud to be part of the crowd all for getting on I-95. In the South Bay there’s no waste of a chance to exploit the available lanes. Drivers move quickly to block one another from realizing possible gains That may have been realized, had lane-changing tactics let somebody else take the lead, Yet for all that I have nothing to say of this crowd in its ruthless stampede Than that it’s just like that past Florida crowd in the sense that it’s no more alive In any real way, whether faster or meaner, than those back on I-95. You’re getting on I-95, old crew, you’re getting on I-95 All throughout life, in each gladness and strife, you’re just getting on I-95. ~ Thanks Always Returns