Halfway down the eagle in a car too fast to move
Blowing off streams of steam into a cloudless sky
We pass cars and stars,
A metaphor for the endless nights we watched them in the sunset
We’re in the business of introspection,
Bankrolled by dreams of a brighter past
Regret is our currency, as we live out of our auto office
But now our shifts are over,
Our daily work is through.
Time to just unwind.
But without any beers to drink,
And with the gas petal as our coaster,
This is our happiest hour.
[car-based poetry. at least from me. poetry slam, 8:00 thursday 9/24, JC Bistro.]
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