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bonaventure-saptelPoems
“that’s a Simpson’s sky,” you say, pointing to the fluff strewn across the highway sky, I smile and nod, concentrating on the music we’re driving to Cornwall in the curb lane, pointedly avoiding what’s uppermost, halfway there from Toronto “driving makes me think,” I think to myself and turn up the volume on Buddha Bar III and talking fades into the rearview mirror black Firebird, racing stripes, eager to pass me I hold steady – he should know how to use the passing lane! he bobs and weaves and nips at my fender it washes in waves over you so palpably I feel it crash on my shoulder - your father passed away yesterday rolling the window down slightly, you light a cigarette I roll down mine and light up, too our ritual – one feeding off the other we’re driving to Cornwall, to family, to mother, alone now among children “what will you say to her?” I ask you silently we’re driving to Cornwall towards loss, towards hope with a black Firebird close behind I move the wheel slightly to avoid a can of Pepsi rolling in the lane the rear-view mirror catches the firebird deliberately swerve to hit it and exlode its contents in a little puff of vapour - highway music bonaventure saptel
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Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 11:37 AM UTC
Driving to Cornwall
“that’s a Simpson’s sky,” you say, pointing to the fluff strewn across the highway sky, I smile and nod, concentrating on the music we’re driving to Cornwall in the curb lane, pointedly avoiding what’s uppermost, halfway there from Toronto “driving makes me think,” I think to myself and turn up the volume on Buddha Bar III and talking fades into the rearview mirror black Firebird, racing stripes, eager to pass me I hold steady – he should know how to use the passing lane! he bobs and weaves and nips at my fender it washes in waves over you so palpably I feel it crash on my shoulder - your father passed away yesterday rolling the window down slightly, you light a cigarette I roll down mine and light up, too our ritual – one feeding off the other we’re driving to Cornwall, to family, to mother, alone now among children “what will you say to her?” I ask you silently we’re driving to Cornwall towards loss, towards hope with a black Firebird close behind I move the wheel slightly to avoid a can of Pepsi rolling in the lane the rear-view mirror catches the firebird deliberately swerve to hit it and exlode its contents in a little puff of vapour - highway music bonaventure saptel
bonaventure-saptel
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bonaventure-saptel
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 11:37 AM UTC
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