Brian G. Angevine
PO Box 5
Cuba KS 66940
White noise—the hiss of tires on rain-wet streets,
The cars’ legacy as they pass on their journey
Spiraling into the cities’ hinterland
Of parking garages.
The nose to the grindstone bustle of rushing passersby
As the work-a-day world begins;
Their faith and sweat moving mountains
Of paper and paper clips and merchandise.
Umbrellas blossoming along the parkway
Lend gaiety and punctuation
To the shifting, sliding cordons of traffic;
Smog alerts and bad weather combine ineffectively
To stem the flow, causing only minor delays
In the passage of money from fist to greedy fist.
Streams of curses from the mouths of aspiring executives
Struggling in their perspiring climb toward success
Each with his personal goal and motivation;
Wrestling his too big, snorting metal beast home
Through the flood to his sanity preserving suburban abode.
Settling back to the mind soothing patter
Of drops on the leaves, washing the soot away.
Sleeping with white noise
The hiss of tires on rain-wet streets.