A PARIS PRIMER

Quatrains

Outside my door
Your 4 x 4
I cannot see
The sun no more.

I do all I can
To pass that van
That turns the sky
From blue to tan.

This rig
Is really big
I count
18 whirligigs.

High on octane
In drizzling rain
Weaving in and out
For the faster lane.

It’s not lost on me
That this exhaust
Is killing us
And melting permafrost.


Old pickup truck
Makes me suck
Fumes into my lungs
WTF.

Dam
Again I am
Stuck
In a traffic jam. 

Diesel fumes
Build up in plumes
And slowly fill
The living rooms.

The SUV
In front of me
If traffic stalls
I cannot see.

18 wheeler
Sets out her nasty feeler
My rear view mirror is too small
But I can almost feel her.

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DIRK HAGNER • INKSWINE PRESS/INTERROBANG BOOKS

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