obliviousfocus

Stuck in traffic on a sunday afternoon

Gridlock
The bus flinging us,
into a weavework of tangled bodies.
Our composure ruined,
pressing for room.

The squall of angry babies
blend in with terse voices.
Sounds outside
just as turbulent.

Movement within catches my eye
following it towards the front.
Driver tries to calm it,
with apparent agitation.

Waiting for the explaination,
stretches the nerves.
Restless

The sounds start to magnify
Short fuses heat at the ends
People start to change
as politeness shifts away.

Just as the masks start to drop.
People about to show their true forms.
The bus is moving.
Breaking the tension as we all relax.

You turn to me.
Hand me back the ring closing my hand around it.
I'm sorry.

Gridlock