The street on which I walk to work each day,
is lined with trees I pass along the way;
their naked arms raised up to reach the light,
and as I turn and look towards the right,
I see the highway underpass below,
and from above, I watch the traffic flow.
Metallic lurching beasts that groan and sigh,
exhaling poisoned breath beneath the sky,
accelerating with impatient speed,
to where ambitions and commitments lead.
Below the bridge, the damp and mossy walls
are vandalised with brash graffiti scrawls.
I turn and look across the road to where
the terraced faces of the houses stare,
with solemn resignation at the day,
as passers by proceed along the way,
expressionless, in hurried silence braced,
against the daily onslaught to be faced.