every time
i have to drive on broadway
i hit every single red light
and i sit impatient, thinking
about whatever i think about
when i’m not trying to think
about anything in particular
like the woman on the bench
or the clouds coming up over
point loma towards downtown
or someone i keep forgetting
to telephone and catch up with
or a book i want to read later
and sometimes i think about
or how my hair has grown and
how my family has changed
and that i live here in the city
i live here now more than ever
more than i’ve lived anywhere
enough to wait at tenth street
and not think too much about
the trees and rain that raised me
and i think about how i should be
more intentional with my days
here between the tall buildings
but i hardly ever have to drive
and so i hardly ever have to wait
the lights are just as red but i
just look for gaps and windows
and nearly kill myself trying to
keep my momentum and save
a couple of irrelevant minutes
dodging cars on my two wheels