Meadowlands Sonnet #1.2

because meadowlands blonds
are to one p.m. bar lunch crowds
as pizzerias are to the arabs
we drive in tightly industrial corridors
under late uttering russians
who overflow silk this chemical river
for local access television crews
and their need to flash at us
with regular chinese food calendars
from dawn reads my year in service
stolen school days as horse traders
bet the last race of my unlucky year
with grace enough to get by in these
times to tell of sensitive materials