Velocity and Obligation

Always moving, I see every light turn green.
Through clean and shining streets, barely seen,

I never stop but glide like a marble dropped
on a polished floor.

Puppet jumping to the gestures of a hidden hand,
I follow each command to turn

the music up, to keep staring at the comedy
on the portable DVD.

What’s in my suitcase? Cash and caffeine.
I need rest, to stash these used

muscles in some silent room. But I’m confused
and never know my direction.

Fantasies of stillness flash: a backyard afternoon,
an empty museum, the comatose air of the mausoleum.

I find at a crumbling edge an open door,
but stumbling police patrol the stones.

Exhausted, I moan and wish for heavy sleep.
But I keep driving, jealous of those buried bones.

* * *

This is my response to the prompt at Read Write Poem this week. The task was to use rhyme.