Gunning down the I-5 to Del Mar,
shot at a lot of new coin in the fifth,
when fields of color so bright, shock
of afterlife, would appear jewelry
on a shelf just east of the freeway.
Oz. Versailles. Elysium. Camelot.
Flowers of gold, pink, purple, red...
in broad straight lines, rectangles,
gliding over hills, scale so grand
tourists turned to twiggy insects.
You plain forgot about 80 mph!
No one slammed on the brakes?
Clouds could appear as fighter jets
in formation, air show celebration,
made of white smoke and wishes,
or they'd loll across the sky big,
slow as cotton ball parade floats.
A pure blue sky shoved the flowers
your way, while the sun shined down
like a proud father. Grey skies
presented them butler-style. Mist
turned all to watercolor, reverie.
Southbound, herald of a winning day!
North, redemption maybe blooms.
No comments:
Post a Comment