Poem on the Highway

We pass scrub, and asphalt
and low bungalow style diners
We pass box stores
and lots full of dusty cars
With light glinting off windshields
Bus shelters we pass and we pass
Concrete deserts of mall parking lots
With fast food restaurants squatting in the low concrete islands
We pass billboards, and some of the billboards we pass are just metal skeletons on cracked concrete blocks among the dry weeds
We pass small shacks and some of the shacks we pass have signs bigger than themselves which say ‘smooth flavour’, ‘gas here’ or ‘cigarettes’
There are banks of dirty snow melting into the brown soggy fields we pass and the ditches are full of dried stalks of cattails and crabgrass
We pass dried puffs of weedy flowers that crumble into dust in the gardens we pass
And we pass drifts of windblown collected trash like sand dunes that have been weather beaten into indistinguishability
As we pass over the river there are sheets of brown ice collecting in the coves and inlets along the bank
And the water is swollen in flat standing waves which jockey and jostle their volume as we pass
We pass brown leafless trees reaching with skeletal fingers
And also we pass towers made of clever geometric lattices of steel girders
We pass dirt and gravel and dust dried into the gutters of the road
And also we pass glittering glass shards and stains of grease and oil revealed by the melting snow
We pass empty schools and yards but the houses we pass are warming in the new sun
We pass stores and streets and sidewalks and a few people are tentatively emerging with bags and boots and briefcases as we pass
We pass cars and buses and bikes that have been chained up for months on street posts and fences and a crossing guard is starting her morning shift as we pass
As we pass we hear the sound of a few birds singing loudly to fill the silence of their absent colleagues
And as we pass we hear the sound of a child’s voice shouting out his excitement somewhere in the distance
We pass into Spring
and soon the spring leaves will bud
and the birds will be joined by others
and we will celebrate the passing
of another winter


Day 8: “write a poem that relies on repetition” More poetry written in transit, go figure
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