Caustic Soda A Road Affair
This long black ribbon has us all tied up. Were just fish
swimming down the same old noxious stream. Coasting down
a needle of man made worth, kept in check by a blur of
white lines and a digital clock. But amongst the verbal
abuse and collars laced with perspiration, rises a
slender neck shapely perfection. I can see her . . . Her
wet hair pulled back. Those glasses make her look serene.
And for a minute there everything was glistening. Where
does she got to work? Is there still sleep stuck in those
lashes? Is there coffee on her breath? Oh, what the hell
I she singing? Cutting me off at 90 k's. She's cutting
in. Does she even know I'm there? Well, if she does, shes
not indicating. Im always in the blindspot. Shes gonna
win this one with mirrors. Shes the type who wins every
race she enters. The road divides between us, we could
crash at any moment. A final glance. Its as if she was
never even there. Where does she go to work? Will I see
her again tomorrow morning? I dont want to have to think
about where I am going. Give me a reason to concentrate
on this godforsaken traffic tragic figures chiselled our
of their own affairs.
