At 70mph

by J.P. McNamara

the street lamps on Chestnut
suspended on unraveled pine 
         against midnight and of it
will begin to dim 
flickering to confused motorists on the 71
         pulling over and feeling the limp orange warmth
In that flexing pastel sincerity  
the sponging wood on two story bids for quiet
seem swollen with exposure  
in a way the daylight could not ascertain
          mapping the spine of the fastest route away
Downtown peeking 
its curious heads through the purple and blackening horizon
looking down the east sides shirt
the little globes wincing on the outer road 
temporarily give way
relaxing with half shut eye lids
          allowing the wire ligaments to droop
approaching head lights nod back in recognition
          due to poor street paving
then pass with the upcoming curve

Categories: Poetry