Poem: Spiro Who?
Pale, perpetual vapor
eddies across the Western Freeway
when the breeze is from the north.
It scuds at a height of a couple hundred feet
and appears harmless enough in daylight
but takes on an ominous cast at night.
The chemical plant
between the road and the harbor
produces the billows
with processes I know nothing about.
BASF could be slowly gassing us
but tries to maintain a smiling reputation
in West Norfolk and beyond.
I just drove home from Ghent
and wish that home was the other end of my trip.
The chemical plant
and the hugely lit staging area
for the new marine terminal
make the Churchland suburbs less and less attractive.
Ha! I sound like one of those effete snobs
Spiro Agnew used to rail against,
but I live in much more comfort
than I could ever earn.
I merely refuse to believe in the second coming
of suburban bliss.
W. W. Yoder, III – Chesapeake VA
