ulumalu road



subterranean, fixed in the earth
by torrents of seasonal rain
and spinning wheels splashing
dirt emptying out into Five Corners
banks proliferate families of ferns
scraping the sides of cars sidling past

winter potholes, summer dust rising
children walking from schoolbus
coolness of overhanging eucalyptus
deep shadows in the afternoon
wheels dipping, gentle rocking
hand on the jerking wheel inside the car

an old form of courtesy rarely seen
where neighbors wave and pass
everyone following unwritten rules
commonality of tolerance
infinitely valued forebearance
asphalt has corrupted the ways of the road

driveway to roadway, highway to freeway
we never see the other driver
never eye to eye or at arm's length
no dust or haze or waiting patiently
or learning the new terrain
after a violent summer storm

paving it would raze our last subtle bastion
inviting peripatetic syncophants
monied voyeurs from a barbarous world
leaking malignantly into our woods --
high road, fast life, lots of lights
a realtor on every sidewalk

not to be romantic about a real road
with its ruts and dust and bedrock
its children dallying along the banks
the pitch and roll it daily extracts
from the sad linearity of our lives
would be like falling asleep in water