a turnpike

so much once depended
on williams’ red wheel
barrow
sitting beside chickens
ranging freely
across some farmer’s
front lawn.

now a mini-mall graces
the landscape
with ubiquitous ease
hung with three
“for lease” signs
and fronted by state
route nineteen

with a line of cars waiting
in traffic
belching smoke
as distracted drivers
check their texts
or listen to talk
radio.

(for william carlos williams)