Road Trip

Staring out as the world whizzes by 
It all blends together if your eyes stay open long enough
All the colors become indistinct blurry blobs
With your forehead pressed against the cold glass you picture
Not an arborous green landscape, 
with sagging power lines that trace the sky,
But tall skinny buildings, pressed close to make room. 
Laid out in blocks, seemingly inches from overflowing
Skyscrapers – as you look up.
With your head thrown back, facing the horizon, you slowly spin
But you can’t see what is happening a few blocks away
You can’t close your eyes and inhale crisp air – it’s all old, stale, reused.
You can’t feel a breeze not produced from exhaust pipes
You can’t just lay in the grass and feel the earth breathe
But your eyes open
You see the familiar blooming colors sprouting from the rich, fresh earth
And yet the world still whizzes by.