5 O'CLOCK DRIVE

Cars are packed tight,
Front, back, left and right,
Up ahead,
Is a long sea of red.

Hot, shimmering rays,
Consume their fixed gaze.
As their weary thought grow,
Time's second hand slave.

Little curves,
There to disturb.
To keep them awake,
As their feet ride the breaks.

No room to evade,
The situation seems grave.
Sweaty collars begin to steam,
Some escape through their dreams.

A glance at your watch--
It seems as though time has stopped.