On Interstate 94 ...

...just before the southbound swarm

fills the beauty of a warm spring day

with circle-form angst -journeys

for bills we need to pay-closure

of silly loops; we with brains and souls

chase the ever-moving goals-

debts have made.

On highway 94 an aroma unexpected

among flowered apple and cherry,

random wild flower volunteers

and my eye- that most tactful sense- finds

the wrinkled jowls and chain-dimpled sides

the tender look of tough hog hides

pressed to air holes along  coupled brides

of rumbled tandem trucks,  riders doomed

to be such as delicious, tender, Fathers’ prides

near the toxic charcoal grills; chemical-ed

meats spread with real gooey trans-fat, artificial flavors.

All will be invited to savor the relics

of an earlier time. When holiday

meant beer and smiles, haven’t-seens-for-a-while

All along 94 South, not a sound did I hear

from hundreds of mouths taking in petrol-ed air;

in loop close journeys there too.

A trek that began with survival of a cull

to end with snout and skull jostled

past a poet in a speeding car, watching

for the words they cannot further carry; a sentence

that speaks upon visions of  trucks that reek…

yet wrought a feeling of commonality,

such journeys have we(--)and for all pretense(--)

just as heedless of its certain destiny.