Haven’t I stood here long enough

Cocooned in muffling snow, I stood at the intersection while the patient, robotic voice of a man spoke to me alone, the space of a heartbeat between each

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

Before the words Walk Sign Is On… came from the traffic light post, judging the flow of traffic and interpreting the signs, I sprinted across the stream, fording seven lanes in record time.

3/18/13 Christine Vyrnon

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A poem I wrote on the bus last time we got this much snow, a month ago, originally posted to USER, my Tumblr notebook.  Public transit is good for writing poems. It forces you to get to the point.

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