Red Light Meditation

Three lanes of still.

A metal river, frozen solid.

The engine thrums

a low, patient drone,

and thoughts, unbidden,

start to unspool

from the tight spool

of my busy head.

Brake lights bloom

red, then vanish, then bloom again,

a slow, hypnotic pulse

across the wet street.

The air smells of exhaust,

a distant siren, a thin wail,

never quite getting closer.

Just stuck.

And all the small things

I pushed away,

the phone calls not made,

the words not said,

they all surface,

float like oil slicks

on this stagnant surface.

Nowhere to go but inward.