May 29, 2016 | Author: Phil Inman-Jones | Category: Types, Creative Writing, Poems
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A poem about driving....


Drive This afternoon I hit Hwy 149. Sunroof wide open, windows down. My black sunglasses on. Long brown hair in a ponytail. I glided by first one car and then another. Shifting out I felt the power. The superchargers whine. Flying down that Grey asphalt ribbon, As all my cares fell away. I eased up to one hundred miles an hour. I drove. Composed. Melded with the machine. Not angry at all. Felt so clean. To drive. The shifter in my hand grasped loosely. As I slid down that highway inspired. Not high, no rage. Unwinding. Like poetry on the page. Better than any drug or orgasm. Can you all fathom? I was alive. All the bullshit, all the pain. Nothing mattered. Not that I just lost my best friend forever. No tears, no fear, no anger. Felt comfort not danger. The wind in my hair felt so clean. So I flew....home to you. Phil G. Inman Sr.

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