The incandescent lights, the crowded subways,
The penetrating fumes, the worried pace,
The ticking clocks and the rushed sweat,
The heavy breathing.
The city moans.
A man welded into a sea of bodies,
Sweat hanging from his frowned brow.
Shaky hands and an empty stare.
A quick pace walks unperceived.
He cannot be seen.
A cellular phone buzzes into his ear,
Vibrating inside his wealthy pockets.
A raggedy angry man shouts,
Like the constant bickering of his wife,
The commands of his boss.
Dark circles have replaced his eyes,
Moans have overcome his speech.
Leisure is an unobtainable dream,
Happiness is once again
An unknown deed.
He stares from outside his window,
Confined within a wooden desk.
Stacked between a wave of duties,
He looks for an escape,
And a tempting distraction.
A thin-***** young woman, with
Child-like body, and undeveloped hips,
Walked without a pace,
Without rush, or march-like hurry.
She pranced, yes, she pranced.
Oh how her body danced,
Without worry, or clenching irk.
Her smile illuminated the beholder,
And her stubby figure, suddenly
Had become graceful.
She turned, her baby blue eyes,
And stared at him in return.
She extended her arm,
She bent her hand.
She beckoned, and he ran.
He took her hand and all
Was left behind.
The city lights, the buzzing screeches,
The never-desolate streets,
And the suffocating sweats.
The yanking automobiles,
The stumping feet, the irritable frowns,
The traffic lights, the ***** streets,
The helicopter roars,
And the rush hour jams.
The bickering wife,
The dictatorial administrator,
The dying parents, the crying children,
The mounting responsibilities,
And countless sleepless nights.
He welcomed her slender arms,
The quiet nights, and the countryside aroma.
The city fumes escaped his lungs,
And he could finally breathe,
Hear, see, taste, and feel.
Oh, how he longs such respite,
He whispers, as he stares down the window.
And slips the hand he had been holding.
She prances away,
And he stands, alone.
In between his desk, inhaling
The city fumes. Exhaling a tired breath.
Hearing the screeching wheels,
The angry drivers, and the busy tack
Of hurried standbyers.
It had only been a rush hour dream,
It seemed.
