Joel Bush

Freeway

We lived on the freeway,
its constant thrum our meditation.
Headlights pierced our blinds
at night and flickered on the walls.
Eighteen-wheelers
rattled the windows
as they rumbled past.

Once there was a car crash
right outside the house.
A squeal of breaks,
a jawbreaker crunch.
I went outside to find
two cars capsized
on the flat, black sea.
One spun by its roof on
the pavement as the shattered
glass trickled out.

We lived on the freeway,
the white dotted lines
leading to all the exits
we could have taken.

Joel Bush reads things. He also writes things. Well, sometimes he reads the things he writes. That tends to help. His work has been featured in The Spotlong Review, Meniscus, and Thimble Literary Magazine.