Foot on the accelerator



A sweep of grey concrete opens before you

Cresting, dipping, turning in to the

hard line of the commute – coloured steel

hues melding into a slow line of duty,

the flow of morning conformity.

Commute, comply, coexist, why not?


You have your foot on the accelerator

as the distant light turns from green

to amber –


closer than you think?



– you have your foot on the accelerator

as the nearing light turns from green

to amber, you are the pilot on automatic

who for a second’s moment sees impulse

as choice whilst choice becomes impulse

though who knows the Truth of it anyway?

Decisions are made, one’s own life

obtusely held within one’s own capable hands,

and the foot pauses or presses,

movement halts or flies – almost on a whim

As if nothing drove it. As though it were random.

You continue, Commuter – a momentary

annoyance for those paused unwittingly

or a heartbeat’s fear for those in your way.

Remind them: memento mori. It’s good

for the soul to de-commute for a bit.

De-comply. De-conform.

Cease to coexist. Detach.

Be a Good Citizen of the Road

but don’t lack imagination –

when all’s said and done it’s what we have left to work with.


For now, you are the god of the road.

Decisions and choices are made by those who lead.

Conformity may be your creed but Impulse is your devil,

Choice remains your elusive Holy Ghost, and the

poet racks up another few lines no matter what.


Commuters reach their point, beyond warm concrete

which now rests a while, it doesn’t care either way.

The foot lifts from the accelerator.

The heart beats.

Zand, 8thJune 2018


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