Green Light

You see it and you go

impulse born of need

to move in advance of the horn.

 

This is America,

someone’s always on your ass,

better be on your way.

 

It makes no difference who compels you forth:

board of directors, family dog

everything is wheels

the gear is drive, not park

 

I’ve always hated highway,

but loved it all the same

 

Truck driver blood from my dad,

lived on a gravel road.

 

You don’t get passed much in places like that,

tailgating is goddamned rare

 

You can really feel you’re going places

though the destination’s drab

forfeit feat and risk and thrill

at the altar of the same

 

Then you find yourself in the city

a land of start and stop

not much forward movement

despite the illusion of flow

 

Where can a person go?

What can a person do?

Deadlock at every turn

 

My husband rides his bike for hours, intersection-free

the allure is understood

 

Like when I used to run for miles

the crunch of rock beneath my feet

passage as far as the eye can see

 

Freed from the shackle of constant crossroads

On the one hand: little growth

On the other: little fear.

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