A poem about the devastation to our
roads caused by the persistent rain
Crumpled paper
the asphalt roads
back roads
and rural highways
some at the city’s edge
sodden land,
up and down
across the territory
do you hear the sound?
of crumpled paper
hills slipping
or is that
icecream melting?
grey, sloppy mud
and hokey pokey
clumps of asphalt
smaller
or larger it gets
cones for
the roadway . . .
caution
indicators
are not even here
for they would
indicate nothing
we could relate
to . . . to
barely beyond
mid-winter
we are living
in a world
of black crumpled
paper highways
and global warming
and watch out drone
a sharp bend
the highway
still looking like
crumpled paper
