Traffic

I leave too early, I know I'll hit traffic
but San Diego beckons like the last piece
of chocolate cake left in the refrigerator.
The freeway is a buzz of cars driving too fast
weaving in and out-
until all brake lights are on,
and we sit.
The open road has become a parking lot
and my bladder aches so bad
I want to puke:
there's no way anyone will let me over.
Maybe I should pull over and pee in the median?
After an hour of crawling,
we all break free once again
and I know my usual stop isn't too far ahead.
Fuel, chocolate milk and an antacid
get me back on the road
as all the radio stations play the same stupid song.
A certain calm comes over me as I hit the 805:
I know every reflective marker,
every sign, every tree on the side of the highway,
and the precise moment when the lady in front of me
will brake hard, thinking she must get over
or miss her exit.
I see IKEA and Qualcomm (Jack Murphy) Stadium,
SDSU (Go Aztecs!) and my exit (finally!).
The gravel crunches as I pull in the driveway,
and the city is quiet and calm.
Home.