Cherry, Citrus, Sierra, 1, 3, 4. Aligator sticker, white truck,
chromium, ribbons of red-n-white on their bellies, fat rubber tyres
up close, smelling of crushed stuff & eternal miles. Radio surfing
on the 10 to remain sane. Traffic jammed for hours with festival
groovers, running through treacle. Propeller people dance in
desert winds, face into fabulous sunsets framed in rearview mirrors.
Did you take any photos & stuff?
Two mouths talking fast at breakfast. Mortality, the buffet.
The question is an early riser, timeless, patient, waits for no one,
takes who it wants & when. What’s my number? I miss you.
Home is a long way.