Our New Sea of Fire

Some professor somewhere asked us where we see
the disregard for life we saw in the book about genocide,
and we all were silent. She asked for the modern equivalent.

They were made to move troops and armor,
in the wake of mushroom clouds and fire waves,
so distant cold warriors would not storm our shores.
Now they're the sole movement through every
articulate detail of our country. These highways
veins of cement and rock spreading like spines,
that birds now follow as part of their instinctual migration.
Moving, dodging, merging, turning, stopping, braking,
rolling, crashing, all the maneuvers eternally.
A worm of red and yellow light going back and forth
coming and going, an oil driven contradiction.
Moving at speeds half that of a bullet,
but more then any running beast on the planet.
When there are collisions it stems man-made thunder
mixed with flesh and metal, that spreads a
shallow sea of debris along the gutters and curbs.
The crashes are left scarred with spots of flowers
and signs wishing love where the life was lost.
Now we talk on phones, text, read, everything is nearly done.
The bodies keep piling up.
Reckless intent with a one-ton driving machine,
when the metal strikes that combined force,
blood is spread out along the shoulders.
No wonder it all captivates us
as we drive by.

Some professor somewhere asked us where we see
the disregard for life we saw in the book about genocide,
and we all were silent. She asked for the modern equivalent.