Stop Light
The sound that the rubber blade
of the timeworn squeegee made,
swiftly scrubbing my car’s screen
in a familiar routine;
was more obnoxious to me
than the stuff, resembling ghee
that the soul, sad and unclean
had just thrown on there. I mean
now they’ll expect to be paid
or it’ll be a harsh tirade
about their slip; unforeseen,
my fine car, and being mean,
and how the land of the free
works fine for people like me,
for them, the country’s decayed.
I think that I’m being played
but then, that thought is obscene!
Why won’t the dam light turn green?
God, they are looking at me;
sorry, have no change, I plea.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
