as the dead end road
reached its limit
we stopped
the snow
stretching behind us
from one ditch
to the other
seemingly smoking
as it skimmed the asphalt

sirens broke our silence
while we gawked
at the long-standing
blemish
among successful fields
years of neglect
now drifting away
in tufts of black smoke

our faces reflected
its tremendous glow
and he watched
my heart sink
reassuring me
that those fields
would churn out rusty nails
for the next
fifty years