Gridlock
Seven years ago, after 9/11,
I remember sensing the skies emptying,
Still viscerally remember my heightened fear of flying,
Which persisted for quite some time —
Mine and that of a nation of would-be travelers
Who postponed vacations, preferring to stay at home...
Remember the airlines suffering bottom-line pain,
The planes being pastured, in desert parking lots,
As the worldwide tourist industry crumbled.
Now, every day I drive from points C to Z,
G to X, Y, P, grocery store to gas station,
St. Louis to Greencastle, Indiana, or Oxford, Mississippi,
My psyche's riddled by a new, equally terrifying paranoia.
Whether stalled at clotted intersections
Or freewheeling down interstate highways,
I foresee every vehicle, in this sprawling U.S.,
Sputtering, choking on its own fumes,
Tanks running dry, engines dying, into permanent silence.
And if this apocalyptic vision isn't sufficient
To engender chronic panic attacks,
Rack me with distraction leading to bad decisions,
Then the awareness of runaway oil prices —
Tied, inextricably, to the threat that, before long,
Our electricity-shackled country
Will endure an endless series of power-shutdowns,
Tsunamis of rolling brownouts, blackouts,
Sector by block by street by house — is.
Vulnerable, mortified, utterly helpless,
As my once almost-paid-off home goes
From double-mortgaged to foreclosed castle in the air,
I don't even ask myself what more could+ happen,
Knowing that the political gridlock in Washington
Is small peanuts, by comparison. Or is it?
Perhaps all that malicious partisan backstabbing
Is, in fact, al-Qa'eda, stalking our grids,
Poised to lock them into irreparable seizure.
07/18/08
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