How much I wish
For an open roof.
A chill cutting through my shirt,
When I’d give the wind
A pair or razor sharp scissors.

Speedometer climbing,
Like the shouts from my throat,
And my hands
Grabbing at the stars
While dangling from the moon.

But with a sputter, my car stops.
The engine dies,
I drop back down to earth.
I could still feel the freedom
Of the wind brushing my hair,

Perhaps the car will never start again.
I guess I’ll just walk.