Wedding Drive

I
The right lane is packed with cars.
Smog packed cityscape     Houston art museum
man in a bunny costume,
is he actually in there?
Don’t touch.
 
Traffic and a wedding in the Woodlands
stuffed and cycling into foggy emptiness.
He doesn’t know if florescent tunnels
or breezy open air either provide enough shelter
or dissonant radio harmony as a Ferris wheel
and paper leaved tree zoom past the concrete highway.
 
Texting poems upsets the stomach
and provide anti-social company,
so stop.
 
II.
It’s frustrating when you feel like crying
and nothing’s wrong.
And just because Haiti is having a bitch of a time
(and I do send my love and compassion)
my chest still doesn’t hurt any less.
 
And why does it feel like no one cares,
because they do.
But they couldn’t help if they wanted to.
Drive on.
 
III
Let me write because I want to write,
not because I need to be some sort of
societal mirror neuron that sits
beside someone’s bedside table.
Or bathroom basket.
 
We’re almost there and I’m gonna look cute.
Watch out Woodlands.
You ain’t expecting me!