Commute, No Commutation

Morning cars line up for the green
Farting steam, sweating, dripping, bleary headlights staring
Each a muffled dissonance of radio vibrations
Each a branded appellation

I walk in the carbon-monoxide mist,
The frost still gripping the broken grass
In yellow patches where a dog pissed.
The fogged glass of commuters
Push past the congested gas station
To pull into a glutted parking lot
Near the dull hum of the Bart tracks.

I have no hat
So I shrug in my wool coat
And trace the slow curve of the street.
Cars shuffle and queue
Like cows soon to be meat.
People pre-packed in their Christmas boxes
Are conveyed by this concrete rut
Butt to nose to butt
To their transport destination.

I mumble my thoughts by the frozen park.
The swings still and the tan bark
Clumps in mounds around dark patches.
Children grounded by the season
Are at home eating Cheerios near the heater vent
Bent over the bowl, cupping cold orange juice.
Sensible parents click the TV remote
And drink coffee in morning robes.

My lobes become numb
As I make my way to the bus without parental fuss
On the strip of grey tongue that unrolls like a welcome
Into the gullet of a December day