Feel the wet air fleck your face.
This highway is young; you are much younger. 
It’s easy to keep driving

cuz time has no place here:
the finned dinosaur car
still shiny and chrome like 1957,
the boxy 80s Toyota truck, and you,
all here together at seventy miles per hour. 

In winter, dormant trees look like they’ve burnt.
In spring and summer, we blast away millinae
of granite and limestone rock. 

In the gas station, a worker said, “It comes
off in layers. Its as easy as pulling

a hot knife 
through a loaf of bread.”