Gridlock

The air is stale and tastes of plastic heat.

We haven’t moved a foot in twenty minutes.

The asphalt hums beneath the idling fleet,

trapped inside the lines and all their limits.

The blinker in the car ahead clicks its tongue,

matching the heavy thudding in my thumb.

A red glare hits the lid where coffee clung,

staring like an eye, lidless and numb.