Interstate Eighty (East)

The road hypnotizes.
Sure, cars blur
Dotted lines into straight,
And the transport trucks

Are like Stormtroopers
With their mystery freight,
It’s when yonder
Distant windmills turn

Dizzy penguins
That you wonder,
Their arms a-spinning,
How long you’ve been driving

And when these breeze-flappers
Powering the nation
Will be
At every gas station,

All this
While driving
The Interstate Eighty,
East.

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