Tuesday, May 24, 2016

A Poem

Pamela Tracy here.

Recently, some friends and I did posts on what we were doing at age 24.  I was in college.  That's me at 24.

Interestingly enough, I'm in college again.  Don't ask my age.

This morning, instead of writing my blog in a timely manner, I was doing homework.  I had to write a poem (I don't even like poems, not really, unless they're long)

So, here's my poem.  The topic I was given was City

Since I live in the greater Phoenix area and commute to work (which greatly affects my writing time), I wrote about traffic, which I then equated to life.

The Center of the World

Men in long sleeves, dirty orange shirts
One has his arm resting atop the door
Tomas’s Lawn Service Truck: serviceable
That’s the steady business in front me at fifteen minutes after two.

Rush hour begins at five, I want to say
Lips press together
No words make the traffic go away

Businessman in suit, no ties in this state
Cell phone to his ear
Silver Audi to my left: plaything
That’s the man, edging in front of me, who should have changed lanes last year

School ends at three, I want to say
Lips press together
Late to pick up my son, not okay

Young women, short sleeves smile on their faces
Singing to the music about love and fate
Ford 350, bright red: power
That’s the diesel behind me, dreaming of the future, three truck payments late

Husband home at four, I want to say
Lips press together
No chance I’ll be home first today

Old man, short sleeves, baggy shorts
No place to go but an urgent need to roam
Old Chevy, to my right, silver: like his hair
That’s the history slowing me trying to find his way home

Supper begins at six, I want to say
Lips press together
Again, there will be a delay

Wife, mother, daughter, wearing jeans and tennis shoe
Knowing she needs to pay the bills
Knowing her husband will bring work home
Knowing her children are out with friends 
Knowing her dad is hoping for a visit, at least a phone call
Through it all, I am the glue

Brake lights flare, end, vehicles accelerate, move, and finally the interstate, again, allows the tired, steady ride of life  


  1. Well done Pam. I like it. I'm not a poet at all so you are amazing!

  2. Yes, and now that I've turned it in, I want it back. I used the word home twice! And, I don't need the son, just the daughter.

    In two days, I have to write an essay. Arg. I'm used to grading not writing them.

  3. Very nice, Pam. Proud of you for continuing your education.

  4. Loved the poem. I can relate...Atlanta traffic.

    You're getting an advanced degree? Good for you.

    Something I'd like to do...but, I say, lips press together, how would I find the time? :)

    Actually, how do you find the time?

  5. Good job on the poem. Definitely not my thing, but my younger daughter writes poetry. She's even had some published.


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