Before kids we drove
a blue Chevy Corvair.
No seat belts (of course),
so you could slide next
to me in the bench seat.
We rolled the windows
down to escape the gas fumes
and the staggering smell of oil.
But oh the sound of the engine
roaring behind us in the trunk
as we accelerated close together,
the streetlights all turning green.
We leaned into loose curves,
navigating to the straightaway
where we would open up and fly
like lovers from some Springsteen
song until the road became nothing
and the car disappeared and it was
just you and me hurtling to this place,
suspended by our own combustion,
carried by time, married by velocity.
Dec 9, 2016
Dec 9, 2016 at 3:17 PM UTC
Before kids we drove
a blue Chevy Corvair.
No seat belts (of course),
so you could slide next
to me in the bench seat.
We rolled the windows
down to escape the gas fumes
and the staggering smell of oil.
But oh the sound of the engine
roaring behind us in the trunk
as we accelerated close together,
the streetlights all turning green.
We leaned into loose curves,
navigating to the straightaway
where we would open up and fly
like lovers from some Springsteen
song until the road became nothing
and the car disappeared and it was
just you and me hurtling to this place,
suspended by our own combustion,
carried by time, married by velocity.
