Traffic nudges my car ahead,
for a half hour, I do nothing but watch
migratory patterns of metallic beasts
splutter and groan depositing soil and rocks.
For a half hour, dinosaurs roam the earth,
and my car, idle, is as vulnerable as the vehicle ahead of me, as the one behind.
Then, at last, I’m flagged through.
clanking and spluttering,
no longer at risk of extinction.
Obsolescence is another story.
Poem by John Grey
Backwards Trajectory 