Traffic Police

There was a slight drizzle in the air. Cars honked like they had a flight to catch. Bikes swiveled like it was a belly dancing show. In the midst of all that ruckus, stood he, drenched in the uncanny cold July rain, raising his hand in élan as every odd guy stopped. The CEO and the spare part, all having no choice but to halt in emergency. As water drops trickled down his muscular torso, I remembered bare torso football boys soaked in a brown gravy of mud creating ripples in my teenage soul. He reminded me of a man who I dreamt of, a real man who was more than solitude and less than a crowd, who makes you feel like a woman again, after all these years of domestic decadence. O police, the controller of traffic, take a break. You could do better than put sense into the madness of these indiscreet souls.