Who knew poetry was a coping mechanism for the morning commute?
Today on the subway I felt like the water hyacinth from The Way of the Water Hyacinth by Zawgee:
Falling but not felled
By flotsam, twigs, leaves
She ducks, bobs and weaves.
I realized that made my fellow subway commuters the ducks in this scenario, which cheered me up immensely:
Ducks, ducks by the score
Jetting, quacking and more
Ducks are ridiculous, and there’s nothing like ridicule to diffuse some morning rage.