The Buzz

I stepped out this morning

into my garden,
its morning-fresh beauty,
crisp air and stillness,
expectation of stillness,
until I heard the buzz,
incessant buzz
from halves of miles away,
all around,
round tires on ground pavement,
nervous movement I had heard in the city,
heard with more scorn than pity,
for it was there,
not here in my town garden,
now a green piece of roundabout
with my stillness put out
by tired arterial groan,
exhausted highway gasp,
and,
from the dreaming homesteader who was,
the worn out homesteader buzz. 

The Buzz

Bob Komives

Fort Collins © 1999 :: The Buzz :: ,9910