The sun reflected in the rear-view mirrors
Of the continuous snaking, slithering by
The jammed, congested chaos repeated daily
Hear the beep-blast, then the insults fly
The consistency of the dreaded grind
Same old, same old dance of echoes
The carpool lane is bumper to bumper
Where budding rage begins its throes
School zones are awake and blinking
Better slow it down or risk a ticket
At the bus stop, a shy boy waits
Chewing bubblegum, leaning on a picket*
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