Traffic island

Immobile in a river island of traffic
that is lapping around a long truck
I notice the trees on the roadside
waiting more patiently than me
for things to clear up so that
they can finally grow some leaves.
Just that afternoon, you were talking
about leaving the city and you said
you were counting time and money
more carefully than ever.
We agreed to that whatever in the
warmth of affirmative echo of friendship
and rowed the next day the usual.
But now I see everybody, walking around
with the engines revved up.
The compasses point homeward.
A home where we are all headed
once things clear out.