Back Roads VII: Lafayette

It's the long street that sheds names every mile

dividing work and home with suburban

cracks in the pavement that lost the oranges

and prunes in dreams of electric sheep.

Lafayette, the main vein of Silicon Valley

from Bascom to Washington

and terminating in Gold, the toxic pond

opening paradise to seabirds.

It reeks of beer and sex near San Carlos, smells

like roses near Naglee, and gas near Memorex

where clocking out never comes without the

daily dose of cancer and birth defects.

Preference over highways where the traffic

and hate boil over like coffee from Turkish copper;

the potholes jerk swerves of jerk into jerk

in a daily test of will over nature.

Coming, the murals are lit and hopeful,

and going, the bars leak escapist fumes

of maraschino nightmares spoiling the bloom

of genius planted at the University.

Schools passing schools, work and death drive

together, but the kids look happy - youth jogging

into the mouth of a quicksand future where

only abandon can loosen its grasp.

From Ohlone to Spanish, Portuguese, and Italians to

Indians, Chinese and androids wrapped in bytes of gray,

cold songs in orchards of silicon

trace the Valley of Heart's Delight.

Someday,

drivers won’t have to break eyes from their screens

while they cruise this American Dream,

blurring the split between now and then.

Feel Verse