Stopped at a green light

If I was a poet, I would wax lyrical about the irony of be stationary at a green light. I'd craft words cleverly about feeling stalled for no reason, watching the rest of the world move forward whilst being stuck.

There'd be beautifully formed phrases and a rhythm which faltered for literary effect.

But I'm not a poet. I'm a jobbing development consultant who is currently staying overnight in a glorified student residence with no wifi, drinking wine from a mug. Which feels a little like being stopped at a green light.