So fellow poet and blogger, Scott Carroll (I hate to blow his cover, but he’s had poetry published in ZZYZZVA) wrote a poem about traffic called Topanga Canyon.  He dedicated the poem to me, knowing that I spent a lot of time in traffic when I was working at the rehab center and teaching creative writing.  That drive was horrible, but Scott and I understand that even in the middle of traffic, lined up like a bunch of tuna in tin cans, there is a way to find something poetic, something meaningful.

When I was dealing with that traffic, I would dread Sunday night.  I know, it’s weird, you think I would dread being at work or in traffic, but on the eve of the week ahead, I would have these terrible bouts of anxiety, thinking about the traffic — would it take me three hours to get to work? would there be an accident? would I be the one in the accident? — and I began to hate Sunday.  I enjoyed work, but I hated the drive.  Honestly, I wasn’t happy.  So I wrote a poem one Sunday night.  Clink on the link below to hear an audio version of me reading it:

Before the Week Ahead

It’s funny, though, and hard to describe, exactly, what I would like to say about traffic.  And I hope the poem does that.  The rest of the day, I’m going to enjoy being alive.  I’m going to go on a run.  I’m going to drink a tad bit of rum — we ran out of wine.  And I’m going to enjoy my family — Heron and my dog.  I hope you, too, are finding a way to enjoy the night, the day, the approaching retired space shuttle, the city you call home.

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