Wednesday, January 2, 2008

Something I dug up just now.

"Construction Dysfunction"

I've got some famous Amos all crunched up and scrunched up sitting in my box waiting to be lunched up.
Traffic is bunched up but I really don't care it it's unfair to someone sitting in conditioned air to have to drive around somewhere else and go around,
take a detour across town,
mysteries and adventures abound,
while I'm stuck here breathing fumes and listening to the sound of disgruntled drivers with powerful engines.
Their contempt for me is manifested in the form of excessive horse power.
They grimace,
punch the accelerator beneath their feet, burn rubber, smoke thick like flour.
Don't get bent out of shape,
pissed off or sour,
because it is too early of an hour to get all worked up and attempt to make me cower
in the awe inspiring presence of Don Millman,
accountant,
age 30,
father of two kids,
ones meek the others flirty.
Don drives a Nissan Altima,
'96 and pretty dirty.
He rolls around with his window down and tells me:
"You guys really know how to screw up a wet dream, this traffic circle is lousy"
Thank you for the animosity,
four weeks we've been working on this rotary.
It's been no simple endeavor and all we ask is that you do is this one task:
Please seek an alternate route,
under different rays may you bask.
We've been here so long,
and will be for a little longer.
So please take my words and be stronger.
Try to remain somber when I tell you the road is closed to thru traffic and the way around is a mile into town, please don't make a mountain out of this mound
or even worse a volcano,
don't tell me to go home and drink Draino.
Understand that you're not the only driver inconvenienced today
but in fact one of many who roll down the window and say
"Hey, what the fuck? I need to drive through there!"
Talk about unfair,
I'm the one getting ugly stares,
pulling out my hair,
close calls and scares,
traffic zipping all around me and for what?
A few measly dollars an hour, that's my cut.
You think that's all,
my pay for sending people the other way,
but you're wrong there's another prize for upsetting you guys
and it's not the defeated look in your eyes
or the countless numbers of flies in this sky.
No let me tell you the reason why.
It's the pride.
You may hate us now but when the job is done and this circle becomes fun.
When the cones are gone and the traffic's moving along,
When I won't have to do this dance or sing this song.
When lines are blurred between right and wrong.
When balance returns,
equalized traffic in all directions,
rather than bumper to bumper city street congestions,
just reflections on an old intersection that couldn't handle the insurmountable hordes of SUVs, sports cars, and vans.
This new rotary,
a tribute to mans never ending need to preserve
and make efficient every grain of sand that tumbles in that hour glass.
So long story short,
don't be an ass,
sit down and be quiet during this noisy road construction of a mass.
I'm the preacher,
you've heard my sermon,
now go home relax and pour some bourbon.
Drink one for you and one for me and one more for witnessing history in the making.
This traffic circle which deserves no forsaking.
Believe me when I say it was no easy undertaking.
Working hard out here,
under the sun baking,
many hours before many are even waking,
or even breakfast and lunch making.
Speaking of lunch,
I still have a bunch of famous Amos sitting in my lunch I have yet to crunch.
Now excuse me while I ingest this mess of chocolate chip cookies
or maybe my ranch style chicken wings from Chili's ,
cold but no less full of zest.
They truly are the best to digest for those holding the sign and wearing the vest.
Tell your mother I send her my best.
Now keep moving and continue west into town.
Sorry ma'am but you'll have to go around,
the reason why?
Don't you hear that sound?
There's construction goin' down at this efficient about of round.
Thank you for the understanding in your heart that you have found.
Thank you for not being wound or a hound.
Have a good day, now I need to get back to the daily pound.

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