Nothing to See Here
March 28, 2006 by John Hewitt
The freeway passes through the onions fields near Eloy
Making the car smell like sour-cream and chives potato chips
The road passes next to Rooster Cogburn’s Ostrich Ranch
With its thundering heard of long-legged birds
And the flashing video of the Indian casino signs
Every day brings me past the factory outlet mall outside Casa Grande
And the auto graveyard at Arizona City
Stubby little mountains pop out of flat ground
Green golf courses emerge from blunt scrub desert
Trailer parks and manufactured homes crop up at random
Fast food and overpriced gas gather around the overpasses
Hard living ocotillo and palo verde trees work through the desert floor
Books on tape form my soundtrack
The Education of Henry Adams
Uncle Tom’s Cabin
Indian Killer
The Razor’s Edge
Sunsets fall red and gold
Sunrises yield more green and pink
I sit inside
Along for the ride
Staring out
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Wow, Mr. Hewitt! This poem reminds me of indifferent people who are coming from or going to their workplace or somewhere else. I wonder how you put the change of pattern in your poems.