Yesterday...
Driving through Florida was always
a light-filled foray into the land
of palm trees and possibilities.
Open roads teased me forward.
Shyway mirages winking on and off
like fireflies as I drove.
These mini Brigadoons flouted cause,
reflecting proximal visions.
Promising rainbows of redemption
and rebirth.
The gators stayed in the swamp.
Today...
Tree-walled highways
funnel me inexorably back
Toward echos of escaped youth.
Flashbacks of net-free descent
and static-cling despair.
No star to guide me,
no parachute to break my fall.
Road signs now scream hate and fear,
threatening hell.
Passing trucks surge an undertow,
A gentle suicide surf machine.
Butterflies dance their dreams
on panoramic windshield promenades.
Then enter Valhalla. Splat.
F150, deus ex machina of doom.
Forever...
Loose ends of life, like Spanish moss
gently gathered by the spinners.
Tapestries of woven wonder
wrought by Klotho, Lachesis, Atropos.
Art of life,
Engineering feat of epic scale,
Participatory creation,
Sisyphean acceptance,
Promethean rebellion,
Fate.
Whatever template of interpretation,
Each day invariably brings
Chopping wood, binding wounds
Carrying water, mopping spills.
Clean the dead bugs from my windshield,
Fill 'er up and put air in my tires.
Long haul truckers keep their eyes on the horizon.
Drive.
Driving through Florida was always
a light-filled foray into the land
of palm trees and possibilities.
Open roads teased me forward.
Shyway mirages winking on and off
like fireflies as I drove.
These mini Brigadoons flouted cause,
reflecting proximal visions.
Promising rainbows of redemption
and rebirth.
The gators stayed in the swamp.
Today...
Tree-walled highways
funnel me inexorably back
Toward echos of escaped youth.
Flashbacks of net-free descent
and static-cling despair.
No star to guide me,
no parachute to break my fall.
Road signs now scream hate and fear,
threatening hell.
Passing trucks surge an undertow,
A gentle suicide surf machine.
Butterflies dance their dreams
on panoramic windshield promenades.
Then enter Valhalla. Splat.
F150, deus ex machina of doom.
Forever...
Loose ends of life, like Spanish moss
gently gathered by the spinners.
Tapestries of woven wonder
wrought by Klotho, Lachesis, Atropos.
Art of life,
Engineering feat of epic scale,
Participatory creation,
Sisyphean acceptance,
Promethean rebellion,
Fate.
Whatever template of interpretation,
Each day invariably brings
Chopping wood, binding wounds
Carrying water, mopping spills.
Clean the dead bugs from my windshield,
Fill 'er up and put air in my tires.
Long haul truckers keep their eyes on the horizon.
Drive.
© 2017 Joan Cichon All Rights Reserved
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