Idaho to Pennsylvania,
thirty-five hours of road
Nature beckons through my window,
fields and trees, lush and lovely,
bright with the colors of spring
My focus, my peace,
interrupted, shattered
by the procession of endless of identical trucks
Crammed tightly,
bound for a hell I can’t help but imagine,
Passengers whose value is dictated
solely by the taste of their flesh
Or else empty,
because death has already commenced
As the trucks whiz by,
light pours through the holes,
the empty spaces
only recently,
like their former passengers,
devoid of movement and life
Even if I would avert my eyes,
I would feel them there
I am trapped between
opposing views
On my right,
life germinates from the seed
On my left,
life makes a final, unheeded plea
From one window,
open spaces
From the other,
confinement
This side,
beautiful prairies
But that side,
diesel, blood, death
Peace calls starboard,
but port offers only
profound grief
20 May 2020
(based on the experiences of my friend, Sandra Ganey)
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