The Gas Meter
Driving down the solid gray snake named I-79,
I can recall how I was once eager
to join the campers and adventure on the tracks of a museum;
as easily as I can recall the names of my pets, warm in my hands –
opposite of the car that attempts to imitate them
by purring beneath my feet as we gallop over the snake’s back.
Does the pet imitating machine honestly think that I don’t see
the meter on the dashboard? Not just any meter – the meter.
What once meant nothing to me, what was once a stripe in the car
now dictates every move both on and off the road.
Cash that once provided bread and butter in my hands
goes into the metal pet’s constantly open mouth; and
its speedy metabolism makes speedy use of any resources
I bother to spend on my metal horse and wagon.
It’s a relief to put the pet to sleep on top of concrete and paint.
But the medication and treatment never lasts forever.
When friends and I crowd around the August fire, all that we say
is, “Was anyone hurt while working on the railroad today?”
And then we check the bandages we pressed down our bleeding budgets,
and adjust the pressure to keep our loss to the minimum.
Finally, its time to load our heavy bodies into those unsatisfied
metal monster pets, turn the key to wake them and jumpstart
their digestion, and watch that sanity consuming meter all the way home.
Driving down the solid gray snake named I-79,
I can recall how I was once eager
to join the campers and adventure on the tracks of a museum;
as easily as I can recall the names of my pets, warm in my hands –
opposite of the car that attempts to imitate them
by purring beneath my feet as we gallop over the snake’s back.
Does the pet imitating machine honestly think that I don’t see
the meter on the dashboard? Not just any meter – the meter.
What once meant nothing to me, what was once a stripe in the car
now dictates every move both on and off the road.
Cash that once provided bread and butter in my hands
goes into the metal pet’s constantly open mouth; and
its speedy metabolism makes speedy use of any resources
I bother to spend on my metal horse and wagon.
It’s a relief to put the pet to sleep on top of concrete and paint.
But the medication and treatment never lasts forever.
When friends and I crowd around the August fire, all that we say
is, “Was anyone hurt while working on the railroad today?”
And then we check the bandages we pressed down our bleeding budgets,
and adjust the pressure to keep our loss to the minimum.
Finally, its time to load our heavy bodies into those unsatisfied
metal monster pets, turn the key to wake them and jumpstart
their digestion, and watch that sanity consuming meter all the way home.
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