Driving to Work, I Pass Myself
Some days the drive takes twenty minutes,
on others, thirty or more. Seems I might pass
myself on the right morning if time flexed its
biceps or looped me into a dimensional shift
thick with donuts and tires and lost minutes.
How odd it would be to wave and say “see ya,”
knowing that tendered frustration grows in
distance, until it takes over the entire mirror.
Looking back, I see my frown diminishing
to a lone point in that shrinking van at the
hill’s crest. Will we meet in the parking
garage? Should I wait? You know the rules.
This first appeared on the blog in March 2018.
O at the Edges 
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Just hit the pedal and get out of there just to be sure, I’d say š
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Yes, I’m not certain that I want to meet myself…
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So much to savor in this poem! One of my favorite Okaji perspectives …
Not exactly related to the poem, but BTW … Austin traffic has become 1970s-ish reasonable now that people are staying home … more nostalgic than spooky …
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Ooh, I loved the 70s traffic. It’s rather light here, too, though I must admit that even during rush hour, the traffic is much lighter here.
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Maybe when time flexes its biceps there is more of it to enjoy. We wouldn’t have any time for ourselves if it never moved its muscles.
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As long as it flexes the proper muscles… š
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Ok Gemini Man! Haha, loved this concept. Cool poem. š
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Ha! Thanks very much.
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Stumble upon this, I am thrilled. Thank you
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Thanks very much. Iām pleased it resonates for you.
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