Children splash in blue chlorination as I pass,
as bronzed guards stand vigilant in fire engine tones.
Everywhere grows the ardent green of our wooded city,
summer wildlife roaming in tanktops and flipflops.
I reach the outer edge of my route,
skirting the border of pastoral civilization.
Meadowlarks flit above and beetles scurry below,
birds and bugs alike chirping their mating songs.
Returning down the highway and barraged with scents,
I inhale the fumes of the hustle and bustle.
Chemicals are abound in the aorta of town,
from the ink on my hands to the gas in my tank.
I struggle to hold the fickle red monstrosity together,
as it shakes, rattles, and rolls from place to place.
Frank Zappa and ACDC fade in and out on the distant station,
providing a soundtrack to my final approach
I kill it and lean back on the vinyl seat.
One more day being the delivery boy.
