Eyes on the Road
I don't like to keep my eyes on the road.
I like to keep them in my head.
I imagine a long highway covered with eyeballs,
hear the sound of car-tires striking them,
see what's left--miles of slime on asphalt.
Motorists pull over. They and their passengers
run into woods, retch and moan near ponds,
where frogs lift their eyes out of water, stare.
Hey, now: something amphibian in human eyes,
which blinking keeps wet and dry land
Copyright 2011 Hans Ostrom