I wrote a lot of poetry back in the nineties. This one is quite different from most that I have written, because it's spoken from a youthful point of view, even though I was middle-aged at the time. (Ya, now I'm an old lady!) Guess we never quite lose the young person inside. See what you think.
Joyride
Contentment coasts...
A silver-gray sedan,
sensible, dependable,
virtually trouble free,
gets you safely
to church on Sundays.
Cruise control comes standard
for an effortless ride.
Solid suspension smooths
the roughness of the road
...and you never feel a thing.
Joy accelerates...
A custom coupe,
without shocks
to dull the ride,
without brakes
to hold me back,
smashes caution signs,
snapping them off
their narrow, rigid posts.
The wheel is in my hands
...and wind caresses my face.
Joy accelerates...
In the dust behind me,
on your way to the bank
in sedate sedans,
you hope with horror
as I near the bend,
all wanting proof that
you got the best deal.
You secretly smile
as I crash and burn
...and flames caress my face.
Contentment coasts...
slowly, smugly, by.
Weary eyes strain
to see in the smoke
evidence of justice served.
Sorry, folks, I'm fine,
slightly sooty, but miles ahead
of where you'll ever be,
for you have no fire
to keep you awake.
...You're falling asleep at the wheel.
copyright © 1993 Phyllis Stewart
Original with caps on each line:
Joyride
Contentment coasts...
A silver-gray sedan,
Sensible, dependable,
Virtually trouble free,
Gets you safely
To church on Sundays.
Cruise control comes standard
For an effortless ride.
Solid suspension smooths
The roughness of the road
...And you never feel a thing.
Joy accelerates...
A custom coupe,
Without shocks
To dull the ride,
Without brakes
To hold me back,
Smashes caution signs,
Snapping them off
Their narrow, rigid posts.
The wheel is in my hands
...And wind caresses my face.
Joy accelerates...
In the dust behind me,
On your way to the bank
In sedate sedans,
You hope with horror
As I near the bend,
All wanting proof that
You got the best deal.
You secretly smile
As I crash and burn
...And flames caress my face.
Contentment coasts...
Slowly, smugly, by.
Weary eyes strain
To see in the smoke
Evidence of justice served.
Sorry, folks, I'm fine.
Slightly sooty, but miles ahead
Of where you'll ever be,
For you have no fire
To keep you awake
...You're falling asleep at the wheel.
copyright © 1993 Phyllis Stewart



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