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Excessive Speed (Interstate 10 through Mississippi)
Pines swell in an incidental blur,
fatter with each mile per hour,
and the body in the trunk, well,
let's not talk about that.
Roll down the window, lean face out
in the head-on wind, hair flaps like beagle ears,
and Red Baron's in my tail,
suddenly I'm flying over Germany.
Mosquito, the size of a small watermelon,
belly-flops in my eyeball. I deserved that.
Back to the dash through Mississippi,
blew past Biloxi like a Grand Dragon through Harlem.
Bang the kick drum on the floorboard,
snare on my thigh, steering wheel for a hi-hat,
a one-man traveling band of gypsies
navigating by the Little Dipper and smell of Orange Juice.
Florida.
If I make it past Alabama, I'm home free.
ã 2002, John C. Rodriguez
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