Motorway Madness

Line of grey
Motorway
As far as eye can see
Tin boxes made by Ferrari.

People roar
In cement rows
On their way to nowhere
The places where they absolutely must go
In the land of Fargo.

By day,
Drab drone of worker bee
Passes cemetery
That overflows
Onto asphalt bitumen.

By night,
A narrowing artery
Of white and red
Corpuscles to their corporal cells
Computer chaos in the network
Commuters dally
Rush and fade
In winter
They come and go
In summer
Dandelions grow.

Confused?
Google maps shows the way upstairs
(The only route is via Moscow)
Behold a sparkling poppy
By the roadside, ruby-red!
As a lazy commuter smiles
Asleep, at home, in bed.