Three poems
by: Jason Caldwell
Parallel roads
I live on one of those roads
You know.
A road that seems to start from nowhere and goes to the same place.
They always run right next to the highway.
You see it. You know you see it.
How do you get on?
I live there,
and,
Even I don’t know
Sometimes a lone house.
Others a flock a few
You see it and wonder,
what it must be like to live there
Tucked away from the world
except for one tether
The busy bustling road right next to it.
Mornings Were Always the Worst
Crowds full, lines spiraled out waiting for their turn, but I was the only one here. Empty faces surrounded me,
The unwilling wheels groaned in resistance as they were dragged into their days work. The cars slug along, crying for a morning pick-me-up
Rivets crumble to dust, the track breaks into nothing.
I’m falling, 100 feet, no 1,000 feet. I fall for centuries finding new lows
I crash into the earth, the ground shatters.
The splintering ground rejects me, throwing me into the air
I jolt awake.
The room is a still blurry mass,
I shut my eyes trying to make use of every grain of sand
Shrill mechanic screams fill the air.
Shit.
Seasonal Limited Use Highway
I took a wrong turn.
“Just use a driveway and turn around” she says
I won’t, I can’t;
A car pulling into my driveway terrifies me
I won’t do that to someone else
Just use Google Maps
Turn left.
Go straight for a while.
Turn right.
Straight for a long time.
Alright, turn onto that road, there.
Seasonal limited use highway the sign says in bold,
No maintenance done December - March, use caution.
Are you sure?
It’s what the app says.
Are you sure?
The road is wide enough for my car
The road is just gravel and dirt
The road has no exits, it just keeps going
The road leads home.
by: Jason Caldwell
Parallel roads
I live on one of those roads
You know.
A road that seems to start from nowhere and goes to the same place.
They always run right next to the highway.
You see it. You know you see it.
How do you get on?
I live there,
and,
Even I don’t know
Sometimes a lone house.
Others a flock a few
You see it and wonder,
what it must be like to live there
Tucked away from the world
except for one tether
The busy bustling road right next to it.
Mornings Were Always the Worst
Crowds full, lines spiraled out waiting for their turn, but I was the only one here. Empty faces surrounded me,
The unwilling wheels groaned in resistance as they were dragged into their days work. The cars slug along, crying for a morning pick-me-up
Rivets crumble to dust, the track breaks into nothing.
I’m falling, 100 feet, no 1,000 feet. I fall for centuries finding new lows
I crash into the earth, the ground shatters.
The splintering ground rejects me, throwing me into the air
I jolt awake.
The room is a still blurry mass,
I shut my eyes trying to make use of every grain of sand
Shrill mechanic screams fill the air.
Shit.
Seasonal Limited Use Highway
I took a wrong turn.
“Just use a driveway and turn around” she says
I won’t, I can’t;
A car pulling into my driveway terrifies me
I won’t do that to someone else
Just use Google Maps
Turn left.
Go straight for a while.
Turn right.
Straight for a long time.
Alright, turn onto that road, there.
Seasonal limited use highway the sign says in bold,
No maintenance done December - March, use caution.
Are you sure?
It’s what the app says.
Are you sure?
The road is wide enough for my car
The road is just gravel and dirt
The road has no exits, it just keeps going
The road leads home.