The Highway Maintenance men
vans full of tar coated buckets,
double dosed yellow lines
and a cauldron of hot pitch
hitched to their vehicle,
peedled down Park Avenue.
They stopped; ate brown bread rolls
spread blue cheese and tuna in overalls,
a mid morning moon
gazes amazed as they chomped
on meaty glazed pork pies.
They measured a lie of land,
noticing where to repair,
scraping away flayed remains
of rogue wild life, staining the fast lane.
They shoveled spades across hard shoulders
saying, “These frozen times
make cracks a mile wide,
but we’ll still get people from A to B
and have them all home in time for tea.”