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:
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.
