Going for a Drive — A Poem
Sometimes, I wish I could drive until
my radio is nothing but static noise
and I taste the horizon on my tongue.
I wouldn’t call it a vacation
because vacations never last longer
than the whole milk in my fridge.
I’m going for a drive
until I reach the coast
and let the stress roll off my back
like waves on the Atlantic ocean.
I’ll hold onto the steering wheel
until my hands spasm
and my right leg is pins and needles
But I won’t stop until
I put myself back together again
on the endless stretch of Route 1.
