Kim Nelson: Rush Hour on the 294 in a Series of Haiku

We all try to flee
the suburbs at 5 p.m.
like mice from a storm.

The highway curves left,
red tail lights swimming upstream,
fighting towards home.

Department stores line
the gray cement river banks,
big box behemoths.

Clouds roil overhead;
the indigo sky unfurls
on granite prairie.

Neon and concrete
stretching on for miles between
me and home sweet home.