Walt Whitman Service Area

i sing the throbbing pains of
your great nation’s bad coffee
hot plates keeping the entropy
warm out along the turnpike

your name is†dissected by the
moon-like stares of motorists
stupified by the concrete glare
i sing the car electric may it

render your oil wars useless
though to be truthful walt
these you never did envisage
may the worn hands of peace

close together over industries
radios play the†turnpike down
rock us†into that†gentle sleep
in each of our final rest areas

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