PRAYER FOR SAFE TRAVEL
http://www.maverickmagazine.com/articles/295/1/PRAYER-FOR-SAFE-TRAVEL/Page1.html
Aaron Anstett
Aaron Anstett's first collection of poems, SUSTENANCE, was published by New Rivers Press. His second collection, NO ACCIDENT, was selected by Philip Levine for the Backwaters Press Prize and is forthcoming in 2005. He lives in Colorado with his wife and children.By Aaron Anstett
Published on 02/19/2005
God bless cars with red cellophane tape over brake lights,
padlocks for trunk locks, different color doors, lumber for bumpers,
windshields zigzag fractals those who outlive lightning wear
everywhere under skin, nearly insignia, tributary maps.
Keep them distant from auto impound's concertina wire,
corkscrewed as cartoon pigs' tails or paper streamers from exploding
padlocks for trunk locks, different color doors, lumber for bumpers,
windshields zigzag fractals those who outlive lightning wear
everywhere under skin, nearly insignia, tributary maps.
Keep them distant from auto impound's concertina wire,
corkscrewed as cartoon pigs' tails or paper streamers from exploding
God bless cars with red cellophane tape over brake lights,
padlocks for trunk locks, different color doors, lumber for bumpers,
windshields zigzag fractals those who outlive lightning wear
everywhere under skin, nearly insignia, tributary maps.
Keep them distant from auto impound's concertina wire,
corkscrewed as cartoon pigs' tails or paper streamers from exploding
party favors. Leave their drivers untroubled. When we follow
open-frame trucks with several green, missile-size bottles
upright and wobbling, extinguish our cigarettes, dispel all fear
and static electricity. Let us clearly see the diamond-shaped flammable
symbol, its twist of white lines a burning-bush flicker, its number
3 religious, as promise to spare us while climbing
hills behind dump trucks of jostling rubble and rebar
or vehicle carriers stacked with those spectacular wrecks.
Copyright © Aaron Anstett, 2005. All Rights Reserved.
padlocks for trunk locks, different color doors, lumber for bumpers,
windshields zigzag fractals those who outlive lightning wear
everywhere under skin, nearly insignia, tributary maps.
Keep them distant from auto impound's concertina wire,
corkscrewed as cartoon pigs' tails or paper streamers from exploding
party favors. Leave their drivers untroubled. When we follow
open-frame trucks with several green, missile-size bottles
upright and wobbling, extinguish our cigarettes, dispel all fear
and static electricity. Let us clearly see the diamond-shaped flammable
symbol, its twist of white lines a burning-bush flicker, its number
3 religious, as promise to spare us while climbing
hills behind dump trucks of jostling rubble and rebar
or vehicle carriers stacked with those spectacular wrecks.
Copyright © Aaron Anstett, 2005. All Rights Reserved.