Boston's New Artery

The serpentine way of asphalt and grass
lures traffic, lures wanderers on foot
through the towers that hide the harbor,
hide the river. Focused on the path,

no one would notice water nudging
the edges anyway. These are not
sailors. They're modern urbanites,
scattered in their missions, disguised

behind earnest demeanors. Their
pleasures wrapped by scarves,
they vent exhaust, and travel on.
Restless as children on a school trip,

they wait at lights only when
they must. Odd exercise
of obligations, a motivation
to drive, to rush to other places.

No one even notices
the newly transplanted trees,
the fountains, all the efforts taken
to make this place of passage
somehow beautiful.