Drive

The man taught me
how to drive,
not just push pedals,
turn wheels.

Racing in traffic
windows rolled up
stereo off
outrunning the self
with no distractions.

"Seatbelt's not gonna
save you at
this speed,
dude."

Taught me how to need
that speed,
eat RPMs and
breathe out
forgetful exhaust.

Every mile per hour
is a drug that you
get used to
until the world
don't look right
unless it's a
ninety em-pee-aitch
fly-by.
Then it's one-twenty,
and other drivers
got no faces.

The tao of speed
eastern flavored
zoom
pocket philosophy
spoken by
tires on pavement
quick-shifting,
sound of boots
on pedals.

Concentration and
smooth-fast looks
over the shoulder.
Ideological blind-
spots can't be
checked.

The only mistake
is not knowing
where you'll be
before you get
there,
and not having
the balls to
sieze needed
opportunity.

Yet,

there's a danger
in racing
when no-one
else knows it's
a race.

On crowded highways,
accidents
happen.

The man taught me
how to drive,
not to believe
what I heard,
or
half of what I saw.

You can't have
friends
in a race
because someone,
inevitably,
has to
lose.


~~~For Laken,
    If emotions raced,
    I'd win,
    and you wouldn't
    understand
    why.