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.


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