Traffic Sounds

When you are sitting three storeys from the ground
The sounds of traffic are the colours of a picture you once saw
Because someone decided to make a movie
Where they moved the cars fast enough that they became
A painting exercise

The squeak of a bark held back in the throat of the street dog
Is the push of paw into concrete
The arch of a thin back into thinner air
The raised hand, heavy vehicle, other dog
That must approach

The bikes, like drunken passengers
Loose tongues licking hot roads
Wheels to tar, wheels to air

Its whiz is a light blue buzz
A lighter picture

Than the dark grey weight
Of a truck turning a corner
When the road, the lamp post,
The crumbling footpath

All stop to watch
As it curves to hug the bend

Why does the small car honk its whimsy horn?
Freeth. Freeth. Freeth freeth.

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