This poem was recently revised, and due to formatting problems has been re-posted out of chronological order.
My Road Trip With the Polka Queen
May 24 2009
She holds it upside down,
scanning the map
for odd names, open spaces.
Invents off-ramps, and getaways
in the frayed no-man’s-land
of its folds.
There are plenty of those,
fanning open wider than her out-stretched arms
poking-in her nose.
She plays navigator like she plays accordion -
my polka queen, cavorting out-of-reach,
pumping-out squares and reels
wheezing slightly off-key.
And so we go, to and fro,
reversing-up gravel roads
bumping over farmers’ fields
sinking axle-deep in swamp.
She pirouettes, I watch
obediently taking her lead -
an inexperienced dancer,
counting steps
eyes fixed on my feet.
At dusk, we stop
unroll the tent
go early to bed.
Then spend the night
learning to tango.
