The True Hell

 i’ve been to hell, and it’s not

built of flames but of concrete

and six-lane superhighways. the

 

damned don’t choke on sulfur;

their souls are poisoned

with the fumes of rush hour

pick up trucks. like tantalus

 

ever reaching to fill his belly

they’re cursed to grope and

grasp at cheap shoes and patio furniture,

new cars, handbags, and

 

shiny trinkets as if they could ever fill

            the hole in their hearts. they

don’t know they’re here. they don’t

know they’re here, but somewhere

deep down, they feel it.

***

(Dallas, TX -- December, 2022)

I had to take a road trip to Texas recently, and I was blown away by the sheer amount of concrete and mega-highways. While I know my tastes are different than other people's tastes, the lack of natural beauty was jarring. (I also know that I didn't experience all of Texas, and that there's tons of beauty and culture and great people and blah blah blah.) Just walking down the road and seeing more strip malls than trees was painful for me. I like the concept of this poem; I just don't think I dug deep enough into the concept for it to be something I'd send in to literary journals.