Gas Prices: a poem

—feel your mind squeeze
the throat—choke—a beaten

down car—a side road—open
window retreat—the wind through

the trees—natural static
—hissing beneath the traffic’s

harsh slapping
doppler vibrations—

past the corporate glass
dildos raping the sky—inch by

infected inch—all for the profits—
internal combustion— and a wheeze of

noise pollution—turn them off—all
our various engines—on the count

of a decade—and maybe
we’ll hear the breeze again—

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:: memoirs in fragments ::
By Charles Bivona

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