Sliding my sunglasses
Back up my nose, I
Press my forehead
Against the lukewarm glass window.
The lines on the road
Fly by.
Sometimes there’s a smudge
Of yellow on ink-black
Where someone, maybe a schoolbus
Or a truck
Or a car like ours
Drove while the lines
Were freshly painted.
The happy, twangy rock song
About broken hearts healing
Is crackling from the radio
(Sometimes you have to hit it to work).
It makes my movie scene
Perfect
As holograms of corn and wheat fields
And little farm houses
Whiz past my window
And the sun shines
Through the windshield,
Warming my face.
You drive lazily,
Your hand is on my knee
And the other at twelve o’clock on the steering wheel
And you smile at me
From under tired driving-eyes
As we speed down the highway.