River drive. Radio talk.
Dashboard lights, yellow signs,
curves up ahead. Falling rocks,
hidden drives. It was Saturday night.
The clock says one. Been driving to
clear the space in my head. Free my
feet into go. Nothing to do but drive.
No telephone poles. No lights.
Houses dark with sleep. A few stray
leaves join me and the road. The
road has song. A curve with
rhythm. Left and right is home to
some. Not to me.
A lone stop light ahead. All caution
is fair. An empty road, a quiet sky;
red lights mean nothing out here.
Roger Singer 