A road of low, ugly resistance
where polished cars roam;
where the rush resounds to
smother some child's thought.

Where conversation is occluded
by sad, droning boxes and a
father explains to his bored
family why there is a gulf
         war.

Monsters of mutual destruction
stare me down; the polished
windows are leaking some unsaid
word. I hear the terrible things
unsaid and pass on.