Ode To A Pothole on 22nd Street
Sudden thud, the tire bouncing up again.
We were not meant to pass here
carelessly.
Fixes, patches and pavings,
year after year
after season after season,
perpetual flashing arrow.
It points to
Something
must be there
beneath the asphalt, cement, gravel, sand and clay -
Demands our attention.
A man knelt in prayer
(manifest destiny)
Hands raised in worship
(trail of tears)
stillborn on the journey west
(the promised land)
A widows garden of love letters.
(divided we fell)
Something.
We are not meant to pass so quickly.
Evasion, avoidance
A brief backwards glance
will not folly mend
nor prevent.
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