Morning Rush

The cars fly by like ants on a mission, the sun trying to rise behind a peripheral pillow of clouds. Destinations intent on securing a piece of the dream; shelter, sustenance and the opportunity to choose a box or a jar in the end. The journey is lost, the focus has become the prize. Society says “you must conform” or else you’re not like us. Since time began there was someone who wanted to make rules for others to follow, who put them in charge, who put you in charge? I think I’ll be in charge for a while, take a left at the next light.