Thursday, April 8, 2010
The freeway exit two miles from my home was closed for 12 hours on April 7 when a tanker tipped over, spilling a load of gasoline. More than 35 hazardous materials trucks were aiding in the cleanup that evening.
Amber winks of welcome home
In cadence of three dozen hazmat trucks
Scarcely seem ominous.
Time for parades and fashion runways
Make way for ducklings.
Could this be a caribou’s backrub instinct,
From a Rosneft pipe segment?
Chakra release and comfort fuel,
They’re called organic chains, after all.
But then I remember the terror of carrying steaming posole
In a cracked purple tureen
Spillover burns, aromatics on the tongue
And wonder if there will ever be trucks enough.
April 8, 2010