THE WHEELS OF THE WORLD

I’ve never been one afraid to take time
to give directions to some passing stranger,
even if it means bumper to bumper traffic
from sea to shining sea.
                                   Let them lean on their horns
and give me the finger. shout cures and insults
from rolled down car windows.
Let the whole machinery come to a grinding standstill.
I’ll have that conversation or know the reason why.

Someone who’s lost deserves a break—
I’ve been given a break so many times,
I’d like to pay it forward to every being in the universe.

The wheels of the world go round and round.
No one wants to stop, no one wants to focus
on the matter at hand—
which some people call the Kingdom of Heaven.

You don’t have to call it anything,
just pause and take a deep breath
next time you feel so frantic you’d like to run over
the next pedestrian who makes you slow down.

The wheels of the world go round and round.
Why not stop them right here, right now, just between
the two of us at this busy intersection
where the one chance we have to be still can be gained—
or else lost forever in the pitiless glare
of unnatural fixation on the road that lies ahead?