Dom's Auto Yard

Dom's Auto Yard squats
one hour north of Toronto
on land meant for farms.
At the gate, cranes exhume engines,
headlights blur into cataract blue
and frames rest shoulder to shoulder.
We float by at oneforty
toward a horizon the color of rust
while hydro poles
shaped like crosses
sink into the rearview
and disappear.

Sean Maj's Questions:

1.  Does the imagery in the poem result in a focused theme?

2.  Should cataract blue be changed to cataract gray?

3.  Is "oneforty" ambiguous? (I want it to mean the speed of the car, not the time of day.)