Near the road the cattle stand, gazing with forbearance and disregard of human haste while the landscape is defaced.
Pick-up trucks, late-model cars, workers, corporate commissars, youngsters eager for romance roam the checkerboard expanse.
Billboards meet them, wave on wave. Verses shill for Burma Shave. Fantasists of easy lays scan motels for one-night stays.
Buicks belch a throaty roar, dollies leaning out the door. Take the corner with a squeal – suddenly it’s all so real.
Drive-in movies in the dark. Love’s in gear when gear’s in park. It’s a film already seen; all the action’s not on screen.
Feeling bristles on the jaw, venturing to flout the law, fledgling rebels, breaking free, scorn a stale conformity.
Heedless of the likely toll, still in thrall to rock and roll, they step forth to touch the sky, sure that they will never die.