Sometimes pressed
by stress I wander
old parts of town
look at the houses
wondering about people
who lived there,
or sometimes, sitting
at a red light on Grand
or Summit Avenue
willing it to change
because in a hurry,
imagining someone
in a carriage 200 years
ago cursing the cross
traffic like I am today
like all those that
came before I am
among them
yet another body
walking along
driving along
worrying along
hurrying along
the same streets,
dealing with
the same concerns
they dealt with,
everything seems easier