Commute, Commune

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 COMMUTE, COMMUNE


You’re angry, I gather, 

because I’m in your way 

and am the face of the incessant delay 


keeping you from where 

most likely you don’t want 

to be. So it’s not in judgment 


but empathy, even gratitude 

for this passing glimpse of myself 

were it not for love’s tempering 


hand on my shoulder, that I wish 

you “God-speed,” pulling over as 

you whip around, which means—


if you’ve ever walked with him 

in the garden in the cool of 

the day—“slow the hell down.”

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