In the midday
wind, roadside litter crescendoing,
fluttering
like so many
white
and pink and gray
devil-may-
care songbirds,
giddy with their freedom;
making those fraught,
jagged,
haphazard loops
of hotly competing
amateur soloists—
and mocking, necessarily,
their huge hostage rows
of passengers
sitting
hunched over
gunmetal steering
wheels,
whispering
over and over—some
very precise
lunch orders
to help them remember
they're
not being paid—
to compose any
questions.