We're stuck in a terrible traffic jam
Of a river of red lights.
At the car dashboard there is a faint green glow:
It's 11 pm.
I already feel tired for tomorrow
Even if it hasn't started yet
For I know I have to wake up at 5 am.

As my mind fills with fatigue and frustration
I hope in my heart
That my dad would never stop driving.
I wish that he would
     drive
            d r i v e
                  d  r  i  v  e
                        and  d   r   i   v   e
To wherever the road takes us and just
Let the dim orange street lamps lead us
To a brighter tomorrow.

I beg to break free from the city borders for
I can't seem to take the stress out of me
So just take me out of the stress.
Let this auto's mechanical hum
Drown my thoughts.
Let every revolution of the wheel
Oust the monsters reigning,
Preying on my mind.

The greens of the rain forests and rice fields,
The blues of the mountains and the ocean
Would zoom in smudged colors
In the artwork that is my window.
Roll it open and the wind
Would gently kiss my face and stroke my hair.
I will sigh,
Releasing the remnants of
My exhaustion and combusted fossils exhausted,
And filling my lungs with the air smelling
Of pine trees and the ocean breeze.

So I hope that we would never stop driving,
And let the road take us anywhere
I don't really care
As long as its
Anywhere but here.

The summer like a rajah dies,
And every widowed tree
Kindles for Congregationalist eyes
An alien suttee.

May I join you in the doghouse, Rover?
I wish to retire till the party's over.
Since three o'clock I've done my best
To entertain each tiny guest. My conscience now I've left behind me,
And if they want me, let them find me.
I blew their bubbles, I sailed their boats,
I kept them from each other's throats. I told them tales of magic lands,
I took them out to wash their hands.
I sorted their rubbers and tied their laces,
I wiped their noses and dried their faces. Of similarities there's lots
Twixt tiny tots and Hottentots.
I've earned repose to heal the ravages
Of these angelic-looking savages. Oh, progeny playing by itself
Is a lonely little elf,
But progeny in roistering batches
Would drive St. francis from here to Natchez. Shunned are the games a parent proposes,
They prefer to squirt each other with hoses,
Their playmates are their natural foemen
And they like to poke each other's abdomen. Their joy needs another woe's to cushion it,
Say a puddle, and someone littler to push in it.
They observe with glee the ballistic results
Of ice cream with spoons for catapults, And inform the assembly with tears and glares
That everyone's presents are better than theirs.
Oh, little women and little men,
Someday I hope to love you again, But not till after the party's over,
So give me the key to the doghouse, Rover

To keep your marriage brimming
With love in the loving cup,
Whenever you’re wrong, admit it;
Whenever you’re right, shut up.

Unwillingly Miranda wakes,
Feels the sun with terror,
One unwilling step she takes,
Shuddering to the mirror.

Miranda in Miranda's sight
Is old and gray and *****;
Twenty-nine she was last night;
This morning she is thirty.

Shining like the morning star,
Like the twilight shining,
Haunted by a calendar,
Miranda is a-pining.

Silly girl, silver girl,
Draw the mirror toward you;
Time who makes the years to whirl
Adorned as he adored you.

Time is timelessness for you;
Calendars for the human;
What's a year, or thirty, to
Loveliness made woman?

Oh, Night will not see thirty again,
Yet soft her wing, Miranda;
Pick up your glass and tell me, then--
How old is Spring, Miranda?

Senescence begins
And middle age ends
The day your descendents
Outnumber your friends.