Connections

I just opened my window.
The setting sun caught funny on
spiderwebs I’d never noticed spanning over the glass and netting.
Lines of white light holding everything together.
I was driving earlier
and I pulled into the left hand turn lane.
The light was red.
A tire was rolling through the middle of the intersection.
No one wanted to drive out
for fear of hitting it.
I drove out over the hills past the mansions
where the rich people feed their children
and watch them get diabetes.
I drove out over the hills by
the reservation and the land fill
and saw a fit, tan boy driving by shirtless
with a truck bed full of wood planks.
He glared at me, but I didn’t turn my music down.

(Franka Hayes)