A Road Trip

We ride along the bumpy road staring at the trees and farms like we'd never seen them before, but they are as familiar as a baby doe dodging traffic in search of its mother and it seems that Eddie Money is
always playing on the radio and I can only remember one of his hit
songs and I never liked it anyway and we discover shapes in the clouds
(a cat lapping up milk, a dog taking a nap) and I can't think of the
last time I looked at cirrus cumulus as anything but and I jerk up
from my highway mile post stupor when the wheels slide off the road
producing a grating sound designed by engineers to keep sleepy
travelers like us awake and our hands on the wheels with the air
conditioning blasting and with us counting the plastic bags floating
in the air and opening and shutting our mouths when a man on a
unicycle rides by on a bridge high above until we find the right exit
scribbled on a piece of paper two days earlier when we declared on a
whim to get up and go somewhere on a Saturday letting the errands to
fend for themselves for a change.

©Copyright 2007 by LB Sedlacek