Drive South

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Through celluloid windshield

strands of rain are teased out of heavy dark cloud

on flat soft alluvial plain.

Southern skies lay carpets of light

on the cerulean asphalt.

Rain puddles become slip-n-slides.

Sunlight plays street games on pop up rivers

between trees and along the highway expanses-

where steam rises like exhale on cold winter mornings.

New pines lift from the swamp breathing

with staggered gasp.

 

Tank almost empty we see the green plastic BP sign glowering;

its florescent buzz surrounded by lone country road.

We pop fire balls in our mouths till our eyes water

and try to make each other laugh,

winding through ribboned circles of cobalt off road

cut around tilted hills.

 

Returning to jet streamed highway,

light and grey revolving around in a matrix

of sky, road, grass and hill.

High top fences cut into steep side roads

we continue our journey,

Southward,Dixieland.

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