When The Women Write Like Sylvia

It's the culture, not the women

When The Women Write Like Sylvia 

Sometimes I sit and marvel at the newness 
of all these things we consider inevitable fixtures
I am in my car on an overpass, two overpasses beneath me
This gray tank I need to go anywhere, do anything
Cars stretch behind and before me in a gridlock,
Each of us in our own worlds, 
Just a few feet apart, keeping inside the lines