Old paint cracked,
chipped and curled like spaghetti
on a wounded wooden fence
beneath a dragonfly
six legs grasping in a plié
Engine begins to hum with the gas,
four wheels lift, turn the landscape
into a blur of incidental objects.
An old woman looks with disgust
hearing the machines roar.
She puts her hands up, swats the air
as if she could taste the exhaust.
On the next corner, a radio vibrates.
Its call is louder than the roar
of the engine that flies towards it.
A grizzled man watches from a porch
investigation of the sounds emerging.
He nods to the engine that ignores him
before flying off with disinterest.
The landscape resumes
its erratic blur below four wheels
that hum louder
driving around corners
to rest on a thin branch
that doesn’t know or care.