highway island

I’m in this unaccountable place, an island in the center of the tollway. A free space. A no-toll free space. Cars and trucks bomble past. Bomble, I say, hurtle, they reply, we hurtle by-bye. No, you bomb, you explode, you disappear. You bomble past and between your bombling passing in the gaps of your roar, I see the other side of the road, the banks of the asphalt stream rising toward the huddling city, a periphery to your vision of eternal highway. I am stranded on this deserted island. Slag of the highway. Concrete blocks, dumps of cement trucks done with their work dump here. But I can feel the earth shudder, I can feel it cracking, opening, I can see exiled green coming back. Illegal immigrant from the banks tunneled under, blew over, buried here, unearthing itself. Cower you fools, cower before a blade of grass, the first false leaf of a wild plant making reclamation of this earth.