The pavement and the plastic 

Cones—Sailing across the dust, Smoothly cruising the country. 

Smoothly cruising the country. 

Seablast, and sun in my eyes, 

Because that’s what shades are for: Shielding them as my fingers 

Shielding them as my fingers 

Surf the air like a paper kite— 

My other hand taps the wheel. 

‘All night long’ squeals the cassette

deck, the radio, speed unchecked: 

Let us ride the soft shoulder of a

Softer night—made stiff with 

The whipping breeze. 

Stringy and oily hair blown dry, 

Wonderful and golden wool woven: The fleece of my better mind, 

The fleece of my better mind, 

Sent swimming in the Aegean— This modern galley rocks. 

This modern galley rocks. 

And the rocks? The rocking? 

The bumps in the road are 

Hardly ever felt when you live 

On the edge—of a seat or an 

Oceanside cliff, gliding. 

It’s always cold in the car, 

I never crank the heater: 

Icy air and wind form a 

Firm resolve—I see 

Our breaths as we scream aloud. 

Sometimes the sound of the 

Wheels drives me crazy: 

But she always says not 

To worry—if only she knew 

That I can never take it easy— 

From the fuel stop and the 

convertible top, to the sunny shore And snowy moor.