The Transporting Nature of Nostalgia

    I miss the days of being stuck at


        that great white stripe, three, four lanes across

     from which we all get to go

        protected left on arrow, protected right on arrow

            red yellow green—safety in

                order, order in


Nowadays we’re all on the great concrete way

    fancy German sports sedans blazing

        on the right

past old American hand-me-downs

    poking and prodding along left lanes left

        for passing

& overpasses, overpassing the common volk & the homeless folk

        the strip mall windows and drive-through hopes

     overpasses over the traffic light democratics

    open lanes for overtaking and overbraking

    I miss the days of underground trains and

        on-the-ground buses, their keep-me-in-touch-

        with    humanity    hanging on to

this black strap, that cross bar

            offering my seat to the blue-haired lady

        or the hunched and forgotten vet, my

    reach to the heavens and hanging strap

                to over stand these passengers

    and this public transport transporting

        to overstanding

                        beyond the Big Budget Expressway, costly toll

            for the         mega-traffic, stock still

            as the         mega-steeple

            and the         mega-cross

            from the     mega-church

                mark time and distance to making it


        The Big Concrete Way: the Parking Lot of the Future

            always between exits, never getting to speed

    I miss the days of walking blocks, strolling hat-tips to

            friends, friendly hellos to vendors and

        vagrants and visitors and café-seated voyeurs

    I miss elbow bumps and excuse mes and

        lovely days and walk signals and don’t walk waits

            and pretty dresses and shiny leather shoes

                and setting my own pace and avoiding

        dog droppings and paper crumples and ice patches

            and even the occasional “you dropped this”

            or “no after you”

            or “could you tell me how to get to —”

At what cost the Freeway, with its perpetual deconstruction-construction

    orange cones lining narrow lanes and late-night delays

where speed limits jump and cruise controls shudder

    where parkways are


                5AM to 9AM


                    3PM to 7PM

    moon day to fried day

            speed on down, speed on down the road

        past these people and these problems

            past these parties and this progress

        speed on down, speed on down the road

            Don’t you carry nothing that might be a load

                what with the exits not clearly marked and all

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