Trish Bennett

Before the dawn smog clears,                   
we weave in chains.

At intersections,                    
we criss-cross — cross

our ruby lights, linked     
one behind the other 
as we drive each other on,

some hearing the music,                                           
but most deaf to the song.

If I paused mid-flow 
would our track stutter?

Would anyone care 
enough to stop,or would 
they just blow their horn?

I want to break this pattern, 
but I’m a coward,                       
I’ll weave the emperors cloth.

Resigned to my fate,                                        
I keep moving on,

a bloody speck of harmony,                                            
in a soulless urban song.

Photography credit: © Brayden Law, Vancouver

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