Some afternoons are just like a ride down a road...

Some afternoons are just like riding down a road,
Watching people buying things for the winter cold,
A muffler, a sweater, a jacket, red and black,
Some afternoons are just like running through a track,
Singing a song of warmth and affection,
Crisscrossing through the traffic in slow motion,
A car, a bus, a huffing old van,
A waiting diva, with a floral pattern,
Standing anxious,looking up her watch,
A painted road, with golden yellow patch,
A few palm trees having whispery talks with the sky,
A billboard announcing a destination to fly,
A four point crossing, busy traffic guards,
Yellow orange faces filled with lively laughs,
A vendor selling corns of maize,
A coal burner lending a bit of a haze,
A shop at a bend, belting out songs
Of Clapton, Washington and winters long,
A little girl on her dad's shoulders,
with amazement gazing at the stream of vehicles that passed,

Some afternoons are like a ride down the road just.

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