Speed
Feb 26 2010


From 2 lanes to 1.
Through asphalt gravel dirt.
And mud
when spring comes suddenly.

The hump in the middle, with grassy tufts,
twin ruts
no passing.
From all who stuck
to the well-worn path —
rusting pick-ups, grinding trucks,
dusty cars, lost on clever short-cuts.
As far from the ditch as possible,
where it’s standing water
gumbo, muck,
the stuff that sucks you under.

You drive hard
beneath over-arching trees,
through green translucent light
rapidly flickering shadows.
In a black Cadillac
top peeled back
faster and faster,
with the rapture, and rush
of speed.
Too noisy to speak
too ecstatic to think,
of blind curves
spongy brakes
single lanes,
on the old plank bridge, that sways
like a 2-day drunk
who hopes to get lucky
some day.

The girl at your side
holds on tight,
eyes bright
gaze greedy.
Up to the edge
the release
the slow-motion scream,
every micro-second
fixed in memory.

Or it could be steamy windows
perfumed sweat
a summer dress.
Like heavy necking
or back-seat sex
— but better.