Monday, December 09, 2013

The Crossing

I know that you know her well, we all do
That girl who’s always in a hurry to go
Throwing helpless looks and pouty pouts at you
As she waits, eagerly to cross the busy road

You watch as the heartless cars and bikes pass by
And catch one of the many looks she threw
It slides and goes all the way down to your feet
Lifting your foot and slamming it on the brakes

She looks at you, thanking you maybe
Her fingers working on unzipping her large bag
You wait as she navigates the mess inside
All that while still standing by the road

Truckers and cab guys and their friends abuse you
You however, hold tight for the damsel in distress
You are her prince, charming or not so charming
And you will hold your horses, until she passes

Her hands emerges from the bag with an iPhone
Blood rushes back to paint her pale face to life
She busily texts as if her life depended on it
All that and more while still standing by the road

Your patience wears thin with every key she presses
Your foot slowly moves towards the accelerator
The car, you can sense, is almost as angry as you
And just jolts the engine awake as if to run her over

The roar of the Fiat wakes her up as if from a dream
She jumps on to the road with a sprinter’s urgency
In an instant she turns into a rabbit in the headlights
And stares blankly at your windshield and your surprised eyes

You stop again somehow, hitting the brake just on time
As she clambers on to the footpath across the road
There is chaos and commotion and speeding abuses
As a crowd of Samaritans comes to the damsel’s rescue

You roll down your window in genuine concern
To see if she was alright, if only to wash away your guilt
As the crowd parts, you catch a glimpse of the girl
There is no thank you, but just a middle finger flip

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