Meandered south into the foothills.
Houses lined the highway. We had lunch
at a gas station. The land erupted in woods,
perfectly-tucked homesteads and newer homes
built to sit upon the land like little forts.
The hotel smells like chlorine and coconut.
I wonder why they never change, soften
their Technicolor coverlets and bleached sheets.
Tomorrow, sitting in traffic and waiting for breaks,
in between their shopping, the trees clouded