June 6, 1997
The early June wind
rattles the leaves of the trees
as the traffic passes nearby.
The whisper of rubber on road
is the advancement of dreams.
And the cars, like ants, crawl
along their blacktop paths
in search of their daily sustanence.
Every one of the metal cocoons
carries someones hopes, dreams,
joys, fears, and idiosyncrasies.
They lumber onward always
seeking the fulfillment of
their next goal, not realizing,
or even caring, about the
small animals that scurry onto
the road in front of them.
The animal; either a mouse or
cat or whatever, wanting
to see what the hurry was,
peers and squints down that
dusty, dirty tract of pavement and
sees nothing special, except
a million flowers blooming
and a bright lance of pain.
The lucky ones don't hear the
scream of the radial AT's or
smell the burning rubber.
The lucky ones just close their eyes...
...and sleep
The early June wind
rattles the leaves of the trees
as the traffic passes nearby.