Old paint cracked,

chipped and curled like spaghetti

on a wounded wooden fence

beneath a dragonfly

six legs grasping in a plié

staring motionless.

 

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.

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