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.)