The Race Day

Red. Fingers tighten anxiously

around rugged steering wheels.

Red. Still red. Feet hover tensely

above gas pedals.

Red. Not long to go now.

Closer and Closer.

Green.

Go.

The race is on.

The cars surge forward,

Each eager to make the journey,

In the shortest possible time.

Beads of sweat fall from the faces

Of drivers as they fall behind.

A grin of satisfaction can be seen

On the face of a driver,

Who had just concluded a successful manoeuver

Which put him two cars ahead.

 

It was a typical rush hour in downtown Cairo.

As usual, there was no trophy for the winner.