Traffic

There’s a shiny metal parade Inching slowly into Edgartown. Twisting along the narrow road, Sun glinting off windows and Glancing off the sunglasses Of people inside the cages Of painted metal and glass. They itch about in their seats, Craning to see the road ahead. They honk their horns as if It were going to do some good. Some look resigned, bored even. Some slap the steering wheel in Frustration and mouth obscenities, Raising their temperatures, As well as their blood pressure. Inch by inch, yard by yard, Like a disjointed snake They make painful progress Until at last they reach Their destination – the beach, The grocery store, the theater, The dentist -knowing the return Will be more of the same. Hot, tired and cranky, they mutter Under their breath that They will start taking the bus And never again drive into Edgartown in the middle of August.