Twin points of red illuminate our path
Beyond the far horizon, endlessly
They pair off in the distance. Do the math:
A pair for every vehicle (to be
Repaired if either fails, on penalty
Of law) and see how many others come
To spend their minutes almost wantonly
Amid the stinking air and loathsome hum
Of engines coughing in futility,
Not just to bar our way, but to procede
Along their own, into mortality
Polluted breath by breath, until they see
As I do now, a break within the press
Permitted (for a moment) our egress.
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