Her traffic.

when she’s in a bad mood

she talks with her hands and they dart like hummingbirds

They buzz and hover but don’t rest anywhere on me

Her attitude click clicks it’s needles kitting her brow into neat furrows

I make a butterfly net attempt to catch her smile

but the corners of her mouth hang like sheets on a line

occasionally drifting up when they catch a warm breeze

but otherwise hanging limp towards the ground

when she’s in a bad mood

she takes her chisel and tap taps my surface

making chips and hairline cracks that let the cold in

and freeze my messy free flowing affection into solid block ice chunks

then she takes her skates and weaves figure eight scratches in my surface

working her blades till I know for sure she’s been there

she’s bundled up

she insulates her warm blood

keeping it safe

from the winter she creates in me

When she’s in a bad mood my timing is always off and her traffic light eyes flash

they tell me yield                  they tell me               STOP

but she never gives her green light go

she leaves me drumming fingers on my steering wheel, caught in her perpetual traffic

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