Traveling with member-supported-public-radio friends
listen to Mountain Stage made possible by listeners like me,
driving down dark highways on the road to vehicular suicide.
Time past I was the passenger and someone else drove,
dreaming of a free-fall at sixty miles an hour,
careening out of a trance onto the median
of trees, grass, gravel, steel signs and cigarette butts.
But I almost opened the door in June,
So for me, I can only drive.
Wheel-grasping, lumbar-supported, you reach that place,
the one that waits for your attendance and responsibility.
Propelled by the inevitability of your momentum
and from your destiny comes a future, controlled,
I hold myself back and refrain from opening the car door...
the one that sends me flying onto the median
of trees, grass, gravel, steel signs and cigarette butts.
Steel-belted safety on radial tires,
You're sheltered because I drive.
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