Cars zoom by,
in a chaotic tumble of
swerving lanes and flashing lights.
Rage consumes drivers,
honking their horns in a constant battle
like fighting bulls with horns interlocked.
The atmosphere in the city
is rift with tension,
mounting and mounting
with every rude hand gesture,
every angry profanity,
every close call with an innocent pedestrian,
until the climax – when tragedy strikes.
Two cars,
like trains on a destined track,
collide.
Blood is spewed,
spattered across the barren concrete.
Hearts are broken,
their shattered echoes reverberating through the alleyways.
Lives are spent,
empty spaces on the bus waiting to be replaced.
The ants are squashed.
Hoards of press swarm
through the streets,
the arteries of the city.
Bereft families in search of their loved ones
cross bridges,
the bones of the city.
Apathetic people across the nation
watch the tragedy unfold on television,
the eyes of the city.
And yet, life goes on in the city,
people scurrying, frenzied in the mundane
and senseless inevitability
that is the anatomy of the city.