traffic sucks – it’s woven into
the fabric of American life
like caraway seed bagels
and yacht rock. Chanel perfume &
the Doobie Brothers. All taken
for granted and running in the
streets will soon be taken over
by self-piloting tractor trailers.
And urban hipsters on
will vie for cramped automated
space in inflated tiny houses.
Put me in my container
now. Sail me out past the
Continental shelf and sink me
alongside the surplus WW II
jeeps, & 45 automatic pistols, no bone
to pick or soul to sell.
The last exit ramp is blocked by a
wildfire, and there is no way we will make it back
to Kansas City tonight.