Propelled down interstate in red
flat bed truck. 256 horses under hood
neigh at morning sun and rabbit tobacco
sways by roadside. I am
sound of wind whistling across fronds
of palmetto in cyclone. You inhale
the cool, crisp autumn scent of me like
beech leaves twisted in palms
of lovers lost in a dense wood of
tangled undergrowth and pine.
Birds sit on power lines in
morning sun. Cars careen by
ConcretebarriersStreetlightstraumacenter exit 2B
Food lodging lane ends 500 feet
and retreads liter the highway
like shattered promises cast aside
Fast food wrappers and styrofoam linger
By emergency lane. Truckers transfixed
in red glow of taillights and it’s
miles to home. Billboards sqeaking breaks
and the yellow glint of sunlight bounces
off glass buildings. This is a massive mound
Of twisted metal and we both know it
but I can’t slow these horses down.
-Ken Harmon
