“Our Road”

Is blind hills and sandy ruts,
where in summer monarchs pile up,
wings at angles, an architectural puzzle,
and gold finches clump together,
only to scatter like coins
when a car approaches.

In the morning the dirt registers
the night life of deer, skunk,
porcupine and squirrel.
After the county oils its surface,
a dark pungency covers the smell
of hot dust and dry grasses.

But soon blacktop will smother
all this, for more and more
the road belongs to the school bus,
speeding yellow twice a day;
logging trucks, roaring loads
of maple and beech;
and slow-moving vehicles
of developers
who peer lustfully into the woods.