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169 North

by Jonathan McGuire

 

That endless river of soaked cement

Whose fading facial scars could eat a tire

Who stretches out infinitely in the pale moon’s light

 

That opaque ocean of asphalt

Whose arrhythmic contractions open up the earth

Who looks to the night sky to keep on the bright side

 

That huddled mass of marketable machines

Whose movements mirror a massive beehive

Who navigate through the honeycomb’s hallways
That beautiful green Messiah

Whose mission is to shepherd the refugees

Who shakes off reality and shoves responsibility down a gaping mouth

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