the sun shown silver through the morning haze
the slow traffic laden decent from foothills to valley town
left the taste of exhaust and burning garbage
flowing across unwashed taste buds
clicking denture plate free from glue
slapping against the few bottom originals
to the beat of Heart’s great hits
one day CD’s will be like 8-tracks –
catching a glimpse of my greying whiskers
in the rearview mirror
the same silver shines there
as in the sky this morning –