Recently, it seems,
I drive my little blue car,
With more miles on its transmission
Than it has left to safely travel,
And I turn my music up loud,

Loud enough to shake the frame
Of my little blue car,
Competing against the wind
That taps my door
In suppressed shivers,
Pushing and pushing,
Trying to run me off the road,

Loud enough to where it is solid,
A single mass of volume and sound
Slithering down my throat
With each raspy breath I pull in,
Like the One-A-Day vitamins
I keep "forgetting" to take,

Loud enough to remind the birds,
The ones that lagged behind
And forgot to fly south this winter
To shoot off the creaking pine branches
Drenched in the sweat of melting snow,

And it's those things,
The pine needles socializing with the whispering wind,
The shimmer of glossy hazard when my headlights reflect off the pavement,
The rust of chain-link fences scrapping into Spring,
These are the things that rationalize the beat of my music
In my little blue car
Speeding along without purpose.