Construction Zone

Living near highways stretches
Your brain, causes leaks in perception,
Turns over meanings learned,
Re-adjusted, then forgotten.

Cars can seem like mirages,
Shimmering like silver bubbles,
Blue-gray in the distance.

Trucks announce themselves,
Growl, paw the earth, charge
Past open sewers like buffalo,
Just a wisp of acrid smoke
Laid behind, burping cancer.

Off-road, porches ooze with black,
Toxic crud, inch deep on the stoop,
Clinging softly to screen
Doors closed tightly.

Moms sweep up this mix daily ,
Toxicity lingering in tomato soup,
Layered on salads, covering the sink
With criss-crossed webs.

Hard to fathom in the morning,
Brains fried hearing nights’ cataclysmic-mix,
Of blaring horns, ruminating engines,
Screeching heroics dodging
Orange barrels like some insane
Nascar race.