Diminshed Dusks

It’s just another evening.
The birds fly home,
To their little twig and straw nests.
The sun sets in a colourful display,
All crimson, purple and orange.
It bathes the land with an amber glow.
But it’s definitely not a postcard scene you see.
No lush verdant paddy stretching into the horizon.
Nor is it something out a classic western,
With open lands and the lone ranger
Riding away in triumph.
What we have are those dull metal cars,
Bikes and buses. And all the people.
You don’t hear the soft drone of crickets or
The twitter of birds, but the brazen honks
Of a thousand impatient people.
Each unwilling to give way to the other.
Each expecting way for all the others.
They form a metal worm, seemingly endless,
Constantly fed.
It inches along on its course, leaving its
Slimy trail on land and in air.
This is the sunset I see.