an equator of traffic jammed

an equator of traffic jam

back east,
a low showing ramp
stuck out like a tongue,
pokes from a delivery suite.

shackled in traction,
automated birthing partners
breathe out
an undying line
of metal shapes,
heavy with
the stink of plastic.

car after car
after car
after car
after car
after car
with no after care.

this line without end
is no longer a line.
but a way of life.

and within the steaming,
straining,
creaking cars:

babies scream with fear

the teeth of children come loose

adolescence spells out a future in pus
and unfortunate hair

couples brand themselves
into each other.

people push to get out
as doors fight doors.

faces loll
from windows
forced two-thirds down.

last cigarettes are smoked
before the long walk
to nowhere new.

hands make fists,
as red mist
descends.

lives surrender all colour.
heavy grey
rides in
with each sweltering dawn.

years grind down to stumps,
as memories
blow beneath the cars.
like litter no one has a mind to collect.

lives stop,
sudden, short.
frightened death gasps
doing nothing
to sweeten,
the sour soup of exhaust fumes.

the planet simply isn’t wide enough
for the traffic to flow.
overwrought
it has become a jam.

as vehicle
after vehicle,
waits for a space.
in the last scrapyard.

overworked cranes
buckled like
broken ballerinas.

a teetering tin sky
sodden with rusted rain.

out west.
just past
where the sun sets.