Contemporary Image

A metal crane
stretches into the sky
with a clearly defined
red ball of sun
balancing on the tip top
creating an image,
an industrial lollipop
just waiting for acid rain
to lick and dissolve it.
But it won't melt.

Early evening traffic
on I-84 West creeps
single file through pillions
towards home. 

The  grey-blue sky,
hazy with heat
is the natural backdrop
for this commentary,
this contemporary image.

I sing loudly in comfort
of air-conditioning,
blaring a CD of the greatest hits
of a sixties folk singer
I like very much,
and four teenage boys
in an old, grey Ford, windows down,
mock me, angry,
for some reason:
maybe my choice of song,
maybe I'm off key,
maybe even at something
I did or did not do
at this snail's pace.

They try to squeeze by
on the right,
but they can't,
there's no room.
They yell at me.
They flip me off.

It's so easy, I guess
to give in to the moment,
the heat, to anger, hate,
but for some reason
the need to be places
in a hurry is less important, to me,
less significant,
than the way the sun
just hangs there in the sky,
so at ease with the steel,
so brilliantly a part of
the haze, the steel, the sky.