Dave Bonta's short poem captures a familiar moment: the slow crawl of commuter traffic into town. "Inching" tells us how little progress there is, and "all of us" pulls the speaker into the crowd. There is no separate, superior observer here. The speaker is one of many, moving at the same dull pace.
What makes the poem interesting is its last two lines. Instead of describing the city as concrete or grim, the speaker calls it "the lush body of tumult." "Lush" usually belongs to gardens, forests, or something rich and alive, and "body" makes the city feel like a living thing we are being absorbed into. The word "tumult" keeps the noise and chaos, but the pairing gives it a strange appeal.
The mood is a mix of weary patience and quiet wonder. The speaker doesn't seem to be complaining. Judging by the language, rush hour becomes something almost natural and sensual, a slow entering into abundant, messy life.