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Across the quiet street
in this quiet town,
they finally tore that old, decrepit
supermarket down.
The screeching music
of machinery was calling
I stood amid the dust
and laughed to watch that building falling.

A giant metal arm reached down,
tore a huge support beam out,
and shook its prize above the mess
triumphantly.
And I saw without a doubt
how we build to tear our buildings down.
So it’s always been, so ever it will be.

And I can’t think of the buildings
left in front of me
or left behind.
Nothing more than the
voyage of discovery
this time.

And now I’m racing with strange urgency,
drawn by some emergency
through undiscovered, undistinguished,
and unnoticed country,
blazing down the road before me,
agent of immediacy,
hoping that this inauspicious sendoff
doesn’t mean the end of me.

The coast is calling, ready or not,
I’m hoping for deliverance
with each ounce of strength I’ve got.
Leaving the city’s din,
I smell California on the wind,
but there’s a thousand miles to go before I stop.

The road is singing its lullabye.
The pale synthetic moonlight
pokes the huge, impassive sky.
The cars are dancing in a line
through the bare expanses,
all keeping time to steel lightposts flashing by.

©2000 Schroedinger’s Catbox