End of the Road

Of course I looked back — or else would imagine
road or horizon splitting open behind
our speedy escape by herbivorous shark,
or mudslides sluicing the aisles of Oceanside
or smoke threads feeding the sky through corrupt soul
pipelines — would always picture us fleeing doom
when instead my hometown shrugged us off, decayed
quietly around needles lodged in its fur
until no one remained to catch the fever.
Such a blue day: the bright Cape Canaveral
kind into which a tornado, tidal wave,
sea monster, asteroid or space ship could loom
— which I witnessed briefly through a rear window,
a tiny ambulance rushing somewhere else.
I imagine returning alone on foot
to fish, search beach shells for the roaring highway.

See artist bio and cover image.