Vans
smell aged.
Cramped legs ache.
A cracked window
brings in warm fresh air.
Without that open inch
we would be suffocating,
baking in the white-grey ovens.
A gas station our only refuge
from rocking cages and awful music.
exhaust fumes
through my clothes
burning skin
Time drags as the vehicles sway along
the swinging sickening our stomachs.
"Cause we gotta great big convoy",*
taking curves, almost rolling
falling swift out of seats.
Finally, Rockford
the only hills
Illinois
has to
give.
thank the gods
upon arrival
vomit in bush
Stones
crunch sharp
against Soles.
Idiots groan
in flip-flopped struggle
with more walking coming.
The girls move so sluggishly
they will be at the very back,
finding themselves lost or forgotten,
fending off chipmunks with flimsy sandals.
small tame pests
out of place
in Japanese gardens
Artificial waterfalls pour their load
over and through fixed thick bamboo shoots,
beneath fake bridges, around paths,
tumbling its way further down,
ending in man-made ponds
with spoiled fat fish.
Rippling water
marks rising
hungry
mouths.
bright koi hide
in murky liquid
under rotten petals
Paths
connect
in circles,
mossy statues
the only contrast
separating one way
and the next, guiding us back
through this simulation of peace
to a gaudy gift-shop that provides
more imitations, novelty trinkets.
arms laden
return to the reality
of our parked vans
Copyright 2008
* From the song "Convoy" by Bill Fries and Chip Davis
My own adaptation of the Etheree, inspired by Basho.
