To a T

(WIP. I decided to post because I haven't been writing for a while.)

They come in yellows, blues,
whites, blacks, silvers -
Some swift, some slow, some rickety
like an old man ambling across the street
on a bad leg.
Luck sends tired stench or fresh scent
to greet you;
Voluble repertoire, stone silence or jagged clatter
to go? It matches engine and roar of traffic.

My mind
like the whirling of wheels
skates down the avenue.
Oblivious to the scenic flipbook
jogging by.