POETRY
Posted: Sat Sep 21, 2013 4:22 am
In Town, by Charles Carreon
In town the earth is paved
strips of green maintained with effort
Fertilized, trimmed, shorn of luxuriance
Spaces on the sidewalk reserved for trees
chosen, doubtless, for their tractability,
Their tendency, proven to the planners,
to grow without buckling the sidewalks.
Cars -- the city is made for our cars
air for their carburetors
asphalt for their wheels
filling stations for their thirst
And the town is full of the sound of their effort
Which is the shifting of gears
the purr of a late model import
the husky rumble of a healthy domestic
the emphysemic labor of a degenerated sedan
with a dead cylinder, missing loudly
as it accelerates down the main drag
Sit at a street window and listen
to the systole and diastole of traffic's pulse
regulated with changing lights and
the unheard clicks of unobtrusive grey boxes
Accelerating and braking all day long,
rubber tired, gas powered, water cooled
well-upholstered, shock absorbing thermostaticly
controlled steel envelopes with chromed
adornments ferry the vulnerable cells to and fro
carry them here and there on strange
fleshly errands ... breathing and seeing
creatures of skin -- soft eyes, rouged cheeks
and businessmen's hats and neolite heels
inspire pity in mechanical hearts
--- they turn off with the ignition key
and do not notice when the officer fits
a parking ticket under one eyelash
They sit outside in the rain as people
sweet to each other nestle up in restaurants
and fill up on sandwiches and cold drinks
They sleep under the hood while high heels
wander through the mall and from store to
store over the sidewalk by the dripping trees
in their reserved spaces
Their batteries run down helplessly while
their lights stare blankly at a wall, and
when their owner comes back they just won't
start.
In town the earth is paved
strips of green maintained with effort
Fertilized, trimmed, shorn of luxuriance
Spaces on the sidewalk reserved for trees
chosen, doubtless, for their tractability,
Their tendency, proven to the planners,
to grow without buckling the sidewalks.
Cars -- the city is made for our cars
air for their carburetors
asphalt for their wheels
filling stations for their thirst
And the town is full of the sound of their effort
Which is the shifting of gears
the purr of a late model import
the husky rumble of a healthy domestic
the emphysemic labor of a degenerated sedan
with a dead cylinder, missing loudly
as it accelerates down the main drag
Sit at a street window and listen
to the systole and diastole of traffic's pulse
regulated with changing lights and
the unheard clicks of unobtrusive grey boxes
Accelerating and braking all day long,
rubber tired, gas powered, water cooled
well-upholstered, shock absorbing thermostaticly
controlled steel envelopes with chromed
adornments ferry the vulnerable cells to and fro
carry them here and there on strange
fleshly errands ... breathing and seeing
creatures of skin -- soft eyes, rouged cheeks
and businessmen's hats and neolite heels
inspire pity in mechanical hearts
--- they turn off with the ignition key
and do not notice when the officer fits
a parking ticket under one eyelash
They sit outside in the rain as people
sweet to each other nestle up in restaurants
and fill up on sandwiches and cold drinks
They sleep under the hood while high heels
wander through the mall and from store to
store over the sidewalk by the dripping trees
in their reserved spaces
Their batteries run down helplessly while
their lights stare blankly at a wall, and
when their owner comes back they just won't
start.