I slow down
brake reluctantly
maintain my dignity
one eye on the road
another
on happy people
on smiling billboards
hoping
at least one of them
would sell me
what I actually need
a reason
to read poetry
during work hours
and wonder
out loud
with my colleagues
why the world
is a safer place
because the
great romantics
keeled over
and died
the world rid
of garbage
that smells of weed
on humid nights
at a beach shack.
A heathen poet 