Traffic Jam

Her knees ached from staying still,
The friction of her car seat
Almost Velcro in resistance,
Gluey sweat linking her pores
With the engine hummed
By overworked pistons
Dry from a winter nap, and
Churning heat over to air,
The way, the common route,
Honked and brimming
With colored, dull metals,
Gleaming the haze of upward blue,
Radiating poisoned steam into her throat,
Ears, eyes a parched pair,
Her toes are angled, curled on the petal,
An open window gives no border,
No room for sideways glances
Measuring the maze, noting only
Silent outlines in the 6 pm hour.