My boys & I do our thing.
We cruise past city lights, past
a new stadium on Clay & Walker.
Enter the darkest part of the city
where old warehouses are without
plumbing or electricity.
Where language is of no use &
words are rat droppings behind a sink.
Brutal. A waste.
That's how we cruise the streets.
Our chins high above sludge of night,
our eyes winking small breasts & firm skirts.
That's where it's at, my happiness among friends,
drifting like love songs boasted
out of old jukeboxes in bars
where patrons shake their hips,
scoot their snakeskin boots,
tap their brims of hats. Elemental
like horses, snakes–shoes hanging
off phone wires. At 90 mph the wind
is a blessing, a bump on the road.
We curve turnpikes, wail thru tollways,
our mouths brilliant wounds
yellowing every shade of green.
On ribcage of train tracks
we are heroes outgrowing their confetti
while under a blanket of bright stars
we reinvent ourselves thru windshields
& gas pedals floored to the ground.