Pages Of A Woman's Soul
Email Poem | Today's Poetry

Every day around this time it happens:

like greedy ants parading in untold numbers
to the world's biggest picnic
the commuters are on the move.

Roads become festered with crawling, fume-belching
combustion driven insects.

Jostling, they compete for position as if they were
worker bees moving about in the hive
looking for the queen.

Through the honeycomb of streets
buzzing with engine noise,
seeking a place only each of them knows,
the working class heads for home.

K. Tate Jacoby
copyright 1996

Vote for this poem

Please Comment On This Poem


 Email Address


Vote for this poem

  Sign Guestbook
  Read Guestbook


 Privacy Statement | Terms of Use | © 2000-2020 +++ Individual Authors of the Poetry. All rights reserved by authors