THE WHEELS OF THE WORLD

  

I’ve never been one afraid to take time

to give directions to some passing motorist,

even if it means bumper to bumper traffic

from sea to shining sea.

                                       Let them lean on their horns

and give me the finger, shout curses and insults

from rolled down car windows.

Let the whole machinery come to a grinding standstill.

I’ll have that conversation or know the reason why.

 

Someone who’s lost deserves a break—

I’ve been given a break so many times,

I’d like to pay it forward to every being in the universe.

 

The wheels of the world go round and round.

No one wants to stop, no one wants to focus

on the matter at hand—

which some people call the Kingdom of Heaven.

 

But you don’t have to call it anything;

just pause and take a deep breath

next time you feel so frantic you’d like to run over

the next pedestrian who makes you slow down.

 

The wheels of the world go round and round.

Why not stop them right here, right now, just between

the two of us at this busy intersection,

where the one chance we have to be still can be realized—

or else lost forever in the pitiless glare

of unnatural fixation on the road that lies ahead.