Posts Tagged Highway
Today, my journey was the usual,
the daily, each day heading for home,
finding home hidden from me seeing
vegetable stands in bombed buildings,
watching plywood work it’s way
to shelter me from the innocent,
locking me away with crooked beasts
who have steel pipes pulled from
the structure of nothingness, ready to
beat me thoroughly, and I stare
at the vacant parking lot with black
sewage toppings, knowing there is no
warmth, knowing it’s no home of mine
but wanting to be flattened under the
sewage and the two smashed eggs.
The raccoon is at the bottom of the red ocean,
lying flat, lying dead on Highway Seven.
Today he lay down for me.
Cranky, fishy, strip bars swing by violently.
The raccoon sat up on two legs
in the back right seat,
and I winked at him,
but all the other drivers flattened him.
I looked anxiously for a stop light,
a resting spot.