Accordion Highway
From my window: buzzing
highway traffic slows as the sun
lowers. Head lights and break lights
suck out the last rays, proudly
displaying their eminence along the road.
The screaming red streaks blend
with submissive yellow ones like an opera
singers vibrato. Their passing
hollows out the night
as would the ocean's pull a crab hole;
a momentary draw, then refilling
with the next wave.
From my window: accordion
highway traffic spews heavy pollutants
which collect like colonies of roaches
on the houses beneath the bridge,
adding a smoky film
to the driveway cracks.
Light jets from side-mirrors
and windshields, brightly smacking
my loyal cabinets along
with the eyes of cursing drivers,
yanking slurs from the throats of god-
fearing people and stagnant the same.
From my window: taunting
highway traffic quickens as brightening rays
rise with my coffees steam.
Tattered shoe strings dangle on the carpet
like an abandoned cat toy
reminding me of the sullen Van Gogh
painting, A Pair of Shoes;
ready to walk with a tired friend.
Emanating light binds me to life like
the way writing ties me to a chair:
the way a job ties me to a city;
the way I struggle to leave.