Roots

A huge fiberglass building blooms beside the road,
its vaulted rooms guarded by razor wire, security cameras.
Inside, genetically perfect vegetables ripen on plants
whose roots will never push through
warmth of prodigal earth, whose leaves won’t know
the bite of murderous insects, whose flowers
won’t burn from direct sunlight,
harsh and unfiltered.
Instead, the parents of these vegetables
live in climate-controlled wonder,
their roots safely submerged in nutrient-rich water.

An relentlessly-dry drainage channel cuts under the road,
its path marked by three reflective diamonds,
the sharp orange of squash blossoms. Beyond,
two crosses are woven into the fence.
The bottom of each cross is pointed, ready to be pushed
into forgiving soil, but these crosses dangle
helplessly in the air,
as far from dirt as are domed hydroponic plants.
Instead of tomatoes, these crosses bear fruit
of satin flowers –
flowers that will never ripen, never wilt.

State Highway 17
Jeff Davis County, Texas