YOU ASKED
me to write a poem
about the miles & miles & miles
of yellow line painted
on the left side of
the freeway,
unbroken
except
for eight inches
at mile marker 73
on I-96 near Bridgman
which one frigid day heaved
up into a black asphalt cube,
yellow on one side,
sitting proud
just to the side
of the road,
cars filled with
millions of unwritten
poems passing by
without notice.
