The Commute

Blank, staring faces;
Eyes straining in the light;
Hands glued, or drumming,
Or occupied with cell phone,
Coffee, makeup, cigarette,
Or reaching for kids
In their car seats.
Another morning rush-hour
Unfolds to honking horns
And weaving traffic
Because they left too late
To be on time.
It's too bad they can't see
The sunrise splashed
In orange and red and yellow
On the purple-blue of
Fading night,
Or see the hawk
Sitting on the power pole
Watching the madness
Expectantly as if there
Might be flushed a morsel
For his breakfast.
Another day begins.