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7th Draft 4/23/25
My wife on her quest to vanquish groceries.
My daughters and I wait in the van,
enveloped in a quiet sea of empty machines-
resting for a moment; their frantic parts cooling.
Under the machines,
there is a blanket of asphalt,
painted, large, hot, stifling.
There is a beauty inside these many-colored hoods-
controlled, perfectly timed explosions leading to seamless motion
in a buzzing shell of steel and plastic
and that unmistakable peeling sound
of friction and rubber pushing away the blacktop.
On rainy nights there is a kind of wet hum that happens
when you see the light briefly appear on your walls
passing like a ghost.
Or when you see one of them now,
in a field or forest-
it was once a dynamically sculpted
thing, sweeping along like an insect over the landscape-
now its mobility a distant memory and it sits quietly
sinking into the earth at an odd angle, nipped by oxygen
and gently touched with all of nature's attributes
fading into the flowers, wilting into the wheat,
engulfed by the grass of the garden.
But I can't find the beauty inside this huge,
dead, suffocating, black thing-
that won't let the water seep into the soil
that won't let trees grow up
that scrapes the knees of children
that won't let the deer nuzzle down to rest
that won't give up the smooshed bodies of animals
that won't let feet feel the furrows of the field
that lies underneath this impenetrable cemetery
that steals the sunshine.
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6th Draft 3/12/25
My wife on her quest to vanquish groceries.
My daughters and I waiting in the van,
enveloped in a kind of sea of empty machines
resting for a moment, their frantic parts now cooling.
Under the machines,
there is a blanket of asphalt,
painted, large, hot, stifling.
There is a beauty inside these many-colored hoods-
controlled, perfectly timed explosions leading to seamless motion
in a buzzing shell of steel and plastic
and that unmistakable peeling sound
of friction and rubber pushing away the blacktop.
On rainy nights there is a kind of wet hum that happens
when you see the light briefly appear on your walls
like a ghost.
Or when you see one of them now,
in a field or forest-
it was once a dynamically sculpted
thing, sweeping along like an insect over the landscape-
now its mobility a distant memory and it sits quietly
sinking into the earth at an odd angle, nipped by oxygen
and gently touched with all of nature's attributes
fading into the flowers, wilting into the wheat,
engulfed by the grass of the farm.
But I can't find the beauty inside this huge,
dead, suffocating, black thing-
that won't let the water seep into the soil
that won't let trees grow up
that scrapes the knees of children
that won't let the deer nuzzle down to rest
that won't give up the smooshed bodies of animals
that won't let feet feel the furrows of the field
that lies underneath this impenetrable cemetery
that steals the sunshine.
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5th Draft 3/10/25
Under the machines,
resting for a moment,
their frantic parts cooling,
there is a field of asphalt,
painted, large, hot, stifling.
There is a beauty inside those many-colored hoods-
controlled, perfectly timed explosions leading to seamless motion
in a buzzing shell of steel and plastic
and that unmistakable peeling sound
of friction and rubber pushing away the blacktop.
On rainy nights there is a kind of wet hum that happens
when you see the light briefly appear on your walls
like a ghost.
Or when you see one of them, once a dynamically sculpted
thing, sweeping along like an insect over the landscape
now its mobility a distant memory and it sits quietly
sinking into the earth, nipped by oxygen
and gently touched with all of nature's attributes
fading into the flowers, wilting into the wheat,
engulfed by the grass of the farm.
But I can't find the beauty inside this huge, dead, black thing
that won't let the water seep into the soil
that won't let trees grow up
that scrapes the knees of children
that won't let the deer nuzzle down to rest
that won't give up the smooshed bodies of animals
that won't let feet feel the furrows of the field
that lies underneath this impenetrable cemetery
that steals the sunshine.
There's a lot of parking lots
these heavy immovable blankets
suffocating all that's around.
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4th Draft 3/8/25
Under where the machines go
for a momentary rest,
their frantic parts cooling,
there is a field of blacktop,
painted, large, hot, stifling.
There is a beauty inside those many-colored hoods-
controlled, perfectly timed explosions leading to seamless motion
in a buzzing shell of steel and plastic
and that unmistakable peeling sound
of friction and rubber pushing away the asphalt.
On rainy nights there is a kind of wet hum that happens
when you see the light briefly pass on your walls
like a ghost.
Or when you see this perfectly sculpted
dynamically shaped thing, once sweeping along like an insect
now its mobility a distant memory and it sits quietly
sinking into the earth, nipped by oxygen
and gently touched with all of nature's attributes
fading into the flowers, wheat, and grass of the farm.
But I can't find the beauty inside this huge, dead, black thing
that won't let the water seep into the soil
that won't let trees grow up
that scrapes the knees of children
that won't let the deer nuzzle down to rest
that won't give up the smooshed bodies of animals
that won't let feet feel the furrows of the field
that lies underneath this impenetrable cemetery
that steals the sunshine.
There's a lot of parking lots
these heavy immovable blankets
suffocating all that's around.
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3rd Draft 3/7/25
Where the machines go for momentary rest,
their frantic parts cooling-
under them, there is field of blacktop,
painted, large and hot.
There is a beauty inside those many-colored hoods-
controlled, perfectly timed explosions leading to seamless motion
in a buzzing shell of steel and plastic
and that unmistakable peeling sound
of friction and rubber pushing away the asphalt.
On rainy nights there is a kind of wet hum that happens
when you see the light briefly pass on your walls
like a ghost.
Or when you see this perfectly sculpted
dynamically shaped thing
its mobility a distant memory and it sits quietly
sinking into the earth, nipped by oxygen
and gently touched with all of nature's attributes.
But I can't find the beauty of this huge, dead, black thing
that won't let the water seep into the soil
that won't let trees grow up
that won't let the deer nuzzle down to rest
that won't give up the smooshed bodies of animals
that won't let feet feel the furrows of the field
that lies underneath this impenetrable cemetery
that steals the sunshine.
There's a lot of parking lots
these heavy immovable blankets
suffocating all that's around.
_______________________________________________________________________
2nd Draft 3/6/25
Where the machines go for momentary rest,
their frantic parts cooling-
under them, there is field of blacktop,
painted, large and hot.
There is a beauty inside those many-colored hoods-
controlled, perfectly-timed explosions leading to seamless motion
in a quiet, buzzing shell, of steel and plastic
and that unmistakable humming/peeling sound
of friction and rubber pushing away the asphalt.
On rainy nights there is a kind of wet hum that happens
when you see the light briefly pass on your walls.
But I can't find the beauty of this huge, dead, black thing
that won't let the water seep into the soil
that won't let trees grow up
that won't let the deer nuzzle down to rest
that won't give up the smooshed bodies of animals
that won't let feet feel the furrows of the field
that lies underneath this impenetrable cemetery
that steals the sunshine.
There's a lot of parking lots
these heavy immovable blankets
suffocating all that's around.
___________________________________________________________________
1st Draft 3/5/25
where the machines go to momentarily rest
and let their frantic parts cool down.
There is a beauty inside those many-colored hoods-
controlled, perfectly-timed explosions leading to seamless motion
and that unmistakable humming/peeling sound
of friction of rubber pushing away the asphalt.
But I can't find the beauty of this dead black thing
that won't let the water seep into the soil
that won't let trees grow up
that won't let the deer nuzzle down to rest
that won't let feet feel the furrows of the field
that lies underneath this impenetrable cemetery
that steals the sunshine.
There's a lot of parking lots
these heavy immovable blankets
suffocating all that's around.
