pawtucket, braga and bourne

it's late

and the journey home
is rubble ridden

is stumbling over
flakes of green

paint left drying
since 1935 or yesterday

built from molds
and carried

through forests
of orange plastic

and reflective yellow paint

scanning the horizon
for passing foul

across state lines
on rt 195

where i bear the right
to rusting breaks

and a loud exhaust pipe

over the lattice
of ground road

under my wheels

the thump thump
of the street and lady gaga

today we passed two cars
still stuck together

by the force
of motion on motion

of hot metal
against hot metal

on a brilliant bright
tuesday evening

on our way over these
three bridges

the pawtucket
the braga
and the bourne