The sun is not enough

To heat this day.

Clouds are feeding

On the weak season's

Inheritance of winter.

 

Traffic attacks the street like a beast.

 

There is road kill

Scraping the kerb's edge

Enough skin left

To form a smile

At certain angles.

 

The traffic light turns red

Little green man flickering

A chorus of sighs

From the driver's windows.

 

An awkward glance passes

Paranoid pedestrians crossing

The perfect prey

For the impatient.

 

This image holds no real significance.

This poem holds no revelations

Or philosophical rewards

Just the realisation:

There are many aspects of panic.