Poem: Traveling the 405

Traveling the 405

There is this little bit of a rise

in the 405 as you go north

just before LAX

when the traffic is right

as in moving instead of

stopped still

the cars seem to space themselves out perfectly

align in their lanes

and move in sync

so as to appear to not be moving at all

if you, too, are traveling with them.

these lanes of straight even

rectangles in the glimmering sun

suddenly like so many rows

of tombstones over at the V.A.

in Westwood. The white chiclets

in row after perfect row

of dead

like a parking lot

for empty rectangles

white above ground

brown below

empty boxes

waiting to be filled again

again to move

the inhabitants

probably just shopping

at the Target

for cleaning supplies

new underwear

or Brita filters at the best price

soon they will return to their vehicles

put a key in the ignition

and start them up

again getting on that road

of long straight rows

of everybody in line

moving slightly uphill

no end to the ribbon of rectangles

anywhere in sight.

c. 2014

e. amato