i kick the transmission
and we roll into neutral
down ON-427
exit Pearson in panic
haunted by the reverie.
we float down 400-series highways 
past  Vaughn, Toronto, Richmond Hill,
Markham, Ajax, Pickering, 
Oshawa, Newcastle, Port Hope, 
Kingston 
past the US borders
to LA into Mexico, across to
Italy and then
India before 
arriving at the sea

i’m watching you layer the potato
and pour the béchamel: 
the lithe gestural wind
rolling rocks and storms
make the oceans curdle

the asphalt crumbles and
deposits tar sand in the 
roadside ditch

my mother twists the atta
with a snap so it
breaks from its 
resting dough

you tentatively take the road
and we cut the air in lines
of concrete that 
drive our car.
this poem isn’t the travel
it’s the landing
what looks like pleasure	
is space remembering
	histrionic erasure
impasse of construction
local migration
a feeling of cultural loss or 
cultural transference;
individual experiences of nation
as defined by the various strip malls