by J.D. Blaire
Sonnet looking at the world when one takes Highway 225 to Houston
How does one make a road some gorgeous thing
When words whitecap and smash upon the sand?
Call fungal rash on grass a fairy ring,
But even then it's still a mushroom band.
My vents spew air with sour sulfur smells
That mix with caustic fumes of tanker trucks.
A sea of smog with rows of coal-black shells
Is Texas highway Industry Deluxe.
Road, take me in your asphault arms until
I suffocate and turn to concrete dust.
What's beautiful is driving, silent, still
And loving what your heart recalls as lust.
This road knows me, and likewise I know it.
Familiar landscapes take me bit by bit.