License to Write

 A road block.

A useful term, though I don't drive.

My won'ts and don'ts, 

the greatest pleasure

of my life. 

But times like this,

the turns of phrase of wheels through space

so present in our little tongue,

I need them now to give you all

a sense of where I'm coming from,

but coming and going, that's the rub,

I've no control of that sort of stuff.

Last year had all that love and blood,

but now's a Fort Lee of the mind,

with traffic standing still as mud. Ugh. 

And me a passenger all along, 

I always was

a militant pedestrian. 

So find me on foot on the bridge tonight,

Screaming a honk that comes out trite.