I took pictures of the road
Pretty patterns of broken macadam,
stony holes awaiting affirmation
from the paid public servant
taking pony pictures of the road
Here is your destiny, epic writer
poet genius, music strider
Broken streets and Government grants
and you, the camera clicking sycophant
Are my shoes too tight/ Do they not fit well?
Are you cursing my lessor talent to hell?
When the art is filled with the cupboard’s dust
We do what we can’t, whenever we must
photograph the alligator cracking
the heaving and jacking,
the dance of land against our pleasure
against our forward motion sensors
Nature’s claim upon her Master;
Plowing the hardness of our paved dedication
and leaving the pieces broken asunder
Weeds of mighty iron pushing back,
deriding the once-smooth and perfect black
She takes it all back, unless we resist and for this
I am gainfully employed,
slave to the creator of obsidian joy.
Don’t be nervous, what’s your worry?
Broken Streets may slow your hurry
Holes and stones have evil methods
to make you late for music lessons
But we are out there, faithful dins
measuring the money spin, holding out our hands
with valor, paving roads within the hour.
Yes, here I am with my proverbial Canon
to fix a wish, to make it happen
Move you faster to your social station
on Pennsy roads, worst in the nation
This became a rhyme, I had no desire for such
messy combinations full of scattered best intentions
your poor public servant, failing this much, this much!
But ah, with a camera I will delight the eye
with digital impressions of streets and their companion signs
All the while, the old market titters –
old man pricks find an empty tiller
Their greedy fortunes falling down like blizzard snow
upon the broken streets we intimately know.