Hammer Lane

Whistling down the freeway,  3am
swirling dust and fog and shredded bark
tattered bubble wrap dances the eddies
surfing the slip streams of my neighbors and predecessors.

Dots under belted retreads
tight curve rumble strip whine
each with our own little capsules
burning oil, hot tar and axle grease.







Sliding through the moonless void
engine drone, dead static air
slipping down the off-ramp home
a pace ahead of prowling bear.