by the scream of sirens
going
in the other direction and talk
about dinner.
we pay
no mind to the traffic
in the other lanes
at a standstill, bumper
to bumper,
the blaring of horns.
the smell of smoke
and ash
in the air.
we roll the windows up
and
we drive on,
we ponder what shall it be
tonight,
Mexican or Thai,
or just keep
driving home and heat up
what we find.
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