driving

131

poetry

I have a terrible day-dream
and I am speeding down a highway
but the day-dream has me
so I hardly notice the cars
that beg to merge
into a southbound lane

and we are on a great golden cloud
flying over the Andes
or the Himalayas
or the Ural
or perhaps even the Appalachians
and the air is so cold and perfect
and cold
and we are gliding forth
impossibly

Look! There’s God! you say
when suddenly we arrive
on the highest peak on the range
and the great golden cloud
evaporates

We are just below the apex point
a hundred yards or so
but we can not see the top
God’s up there! you say and wave
and point and wave
the air is thin for us I think
but not for God I guess
as you start to climb

When you notice that I do not follow
you stop and turn and shout
Do you refuse to meet God?
This can not be god, I say.
God does not simply fetch you
up the mountain. How could you come
to know God, without the climb?

you shout again as I turn and leap away
in to a dark chasm down below
and I consider my fate as I fall
for what seems like a lifetime
as your voice echoes away
Better to perish in real darkness,
I think, than incinerate in some false light

and perhaps I die then, but I never know
for the awful day-dream always seems to end
as the fuel light chimes on

let’s drive north

poetry

and leave this all behind,
saying farewell to our lives,
dropping the imperatively meaningless tasks,
walking out on our fucking jobs,
jumping onto 25
to see where it will take us,
leaving texas behind (good riddance),
passing through new mexico
only to linger in colorado
before tackling wyoming,
montana,
continuing on with no directions,
with no definitions,
with no plans,
except to find canada’s cool embrace
before our lives find us
and drag us back
to the heat of our lives.

jalopy

poetry

i drove this rusty bucket down
what apparently was the wrong
way on a one way street, i noticed
because all of the ladies with their
children were dropping their jaws

i grinned because they look funny
with their mouths wide, waiting

my grin says be prepared

i was having a wicked conversation
that stuttered and stopped like
my old jalopy, i’d keep going
over the same lines driving
the wrong way and eventually
they’d get me (i knew)

i had the gumption but not
the guts to just gas it when they
pulled up behind me screaming,
waving their batons talking
about one way streets and
their directional nonsense

behind bars i dream of driving,
still.

I’d punch you in the nose if i could and gladly accept all the consequences to follow knowing that in some distorted way i’ve reclaimed that lost time

poetry

Fifty-five minutes
In stop-and-go traffic
Mostly stopped
Waiting for the terrible accident
Fallen tree in the road
Collapsed highway
Or some other great catastrophe
To be cleared
And at last sixty-five mph
Can be resumed
Only to discover
There wasn’t an earthquake
And the world isn’t ending

Instead a million rubberneckers
For the life of me
I’ll never understand
Have slammed their brakes
Staring in awe and wonder
At a solitary police cruiser
Lights flashing
On the side of the road

Do I get a refund on all
Of my time you just wasted?