Pause For Poetry:
Michael Hawkes /54
A Sound World
A poem by Michael Hawkes
The sound of the world is that of the car;
The hiss of hot metal rushing through air,
Synthetic rubber sucking on tar
And combustion’s muffled blare…
One hears the screech of drill bits biting
Beneath the foundry’s hellish roar
Above the screams of oilmen fighting
And steel mill workers struggle for more.
One feels the heat of miners mining
Shares the subterranean throb
Of the planet’s pulse combining
With the mayhem of a driving mob.
One feels the heat of oil fields burning,
One hears the fury of the fire,
Sees the black smoke drifting, churning,
Blanketing the earth with mire.
We’ve killed the world to drive a car
To reach the cemetery gate.
Where having come from near and far
We sit and idle, park and wait.
And if there is a lucky star
To wish upon, to guide our fate
We hope to drive there in a car
And further hope we’re not too late.
2/10/22 – Hawkes
Feature image: Miguel Barrera, Pexels
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