a traffic officer
conducts the morning
flood of traffic
dressed in powder blue
and navy
a yellow rope
hangs from his right shoulder
his shirt and tie
are tucked into his trousers
his shiny black loafers
reflect cars and buildings
he wears white gloves
and carries an orange baton
he moves not
to the sound of engines
or violins
but to to the movement
of vehicles
he spots an oncoming bus
he makes eye contact
with the driver
the driver nods
he raises his baton to the sky
and waves it in small circles
he extends his other arm straight out
like a construction crane
and with white fingertips
he calls his partner forth
it passes slowly
into his arms
and out
into the rotary
leaving him behind
he then bows
and turns on his heel
to another
a taxi
a car
a motorbike
he treats them all the same
with the same extended arms
with the same white gloves
and orange baton
one by one
they enter and exit his life
while he slips through
the cracks of banality
into the magnificence behind
