It’s long and sleek, it’s my
47 black Mercury with satin fingers
for tires and manicured white walls
breaking through the barriers in
every town and over state lines.
Bold chrome teeth bite the air. No
road is safe when exhaust dusts
trees and tilted mailboxes.
I got another ride in me, another road
to go while the engine is hot
waiting for me to run the streets.
One more drive without looking back
as my hair blows wild with the wind
I hold tight the wheel on a road
I’ve never cruised before.
Roger Singer 