the freeways are a psychological
entanglement of
warped souls,
dying flowers in the dying hour
of the dying day.
old cars, young drivers,
new models driven by
aged men, driven by
drivers without licenses, by drunk
drivers, by drugged drivers,
by suicidal drivers, by super-cautious
drivers (the worst).
drivers with minds like camels,
drivers who piss in their seats,
drivers who yearn to kill,
drivers who love to gamble,
drivers who blame everybody else,
drivers who hate everybody,
drivers who carry guns.
drivers who don’t now what
rearview
mirrors are for,
what the turn signals are for,
drivers who drive without brakes,
drivers who drive on bald tires.
drivers who drive slowly in the fast lane,
drivers who hate their wives or their husbands,
and want to make you pay for that.
unemployed drivers, pissed.
all these represent
humanity in general, totally enraged, demented,
vengeful, spiteful, cheap denizens of our culture, vultures,
jackals, sharks, suckerfish, stingrays, lice…
all on the freeway along with you
tailgating,
cutting in and out,
cheating themselves,
leering,
their radios blaring the worst music ever written,
their gas tanks nearly empty,
engines overheating,
minds over the next hill,
they don’t know how to drive
or live,
they know less than a snail crawling home.
they are what you see every day
going from nowhere to nowhere,
they elect presidents, procreate, decorate their
Christmas trees.
what you see on the freeway is just what there is,
a funeral procession of the dead,
the greatest horror of our time in motion.
I’ll see you there tomorrow!
(Charles Bukowski
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