Limbo

As if my time is unlimited, 

my life moves in slow motion.

Like a long traffic jam 

right up the motorway.

No crash or roadworks,

just a grinding halt.

As if the world itself stopped spinning,

lingering in a sort of rest.

I crack my neck and listen to my playlist,

try to make plans for tomorrow 

and it’s quite peaceful for a while,

until I need the toilet. 

There is no turning off this road,

no lay-by or service station,

just piled together like domino’s.

Waiting for the front cars to budge,

or until the hand of God drops down

and smacks us on the boot.

One way and no other lane,

yet, I chose to get on this road miles back.

Should’ve gone through country lanes,

perhaps that would be quicker.

A desperate horn blasts behind me,

so sorrowful and pointless.

More join the cry until it drowns out the music,

the same frustrating song on a loop.

A finger shoots out the window in front,

laughing in hopeless despair.

But in this purgatory,

I find myself joining in the roar.

— A. C. French