A lurid, leafed patina
is overtaking the hulking
silhouette of my father's
Chevy, waging
a war with the flaking
steel and chipping candy
apple red. When the sun
is high you can see
its winking eyes
inside the noisome mass
of weeds swarming
its cab, the sunflower
light, illuminating defeat.

Verdant shadows
skitter, quick as spider's
legs, across the stained
glass gloom
beneath a willow consumed
in prickling green
and lavender
stalks. Its sagging
bows sway as crowds
of violet faces nod
in the fetid breeze,
their fine, powdery
mouths spilling laughter.

Bare, spindly pines
and power lines, the dull
shine of mile markers
obscured and made lush
by waves of leaping
vines. So virulent
these ravenous
invaders that they rip
away the road, crumbling
chunks of highway
carried by reckless
tendrils, rushing west.