On the Way to the Acupuncturist
In the wrong lane, the slow one—
I do what I have to, to get out.
It takes awhile, and the dynamics
of the lanes shift. Shift again.
Nineteen minutes to get there.
Cars pass me, but why do I care:
I still have time. It’s being
behind the curve that rankles—
I want to catch the traffic lights’
green wave, latch onto the tailwind.
