Progress

Disoriented by the sound of cicadas buzzing
accompanied by crickets
singing a symphony to herald the twilight.
The scent of pine overpowered.
The road burnt my feet.

I trudged forward into the city
away from the farm,
away from the past,
away from the trees,
where plastics
replaced wood and iron.

I lost myself long ago;
homogenized and pasteurized
but still expired.