Wild Haired, Yelling At Passing Automobiles Poem by Raj Dronamraju

The boulevard is crowded with the first sweat of the morning
And the monkey itch of not enough coffee
Racing stripe denials catch disembodied words unaware
Loud enough that rolled up windows in traffic waiting for the light to change can't keep them out

Service station invisibles are accused of unwarranted pestering
She yells at them and pulls at resembled dreadlocks
They stand straight up as if without gravity

I know she must have targets right in front of her
Memories or hallucinations or a combination of both
Commuters with tanks filled drive gingerly around her

Gingerly, her hair will impress with Medusa paralysis how hard it is to not know what is real
And for no one to understand this
And to be engaged in public in this way
And to be written off in public in this way