As we've traveled this summer, I've noticed 'road work' all over the place. What if tar had body and soul?
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Hot tar, sticky
sprawls on the streets
to ooze in gravel
bear blistering heat;
dance on … it burns feet.

Sweltering sweat
within it pulsates;
things roll heavily
Melting rocks crunch, ache;
grovel … their nails rake.

Hot tar, sticky,
yearningly sears … burns …
causing boils, fever.
Flesh is crawling. Durn!
My insides leak, churn.

I faint, lay splayed,
‘a fire, sulfur reeks.
Something must come
to soothe out my peaks,
muffle moans, seal creaks.

Hot tar, sticky,
mission fulfilled
in once virgin fields.