Monday, 23 June 2014

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

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