Auto Motive Poem by Adam Hoagland

In wide-open skies, the sparrows are soaring,
whichever direction they please.
Beneath them, the slump of the bumper-to-bumper
is thumping the throng to its knees.

Breathing the fumes of our idling tombs
and soaking the seats in our sweat,
the more we're immersed in the thrill of the road
the more aggravated we get.

Expressions and gestures of travelers' rage
are flipping from Honda to Ford;
St. Christopher medals o'er each stomping pedal
won't win back this stretch for the Lord.

Every inch of impoverished gutter impressed
as a hastily improvised lane,
a low-gear restrained travelling asylum
for the honking and screeching insane.

Our blessing of modern technology is having
the opposite social effect;
This choked infrastructure has squashed upright man
to a yowling rodentia reject.

If we ever arrive, intact and alive,
we'll embrace like the strongest of friends,
until, with a grin, we crank up and belt in
to be auto berserkers again.

- ARH 10/8/11