puffing along the highway,
eyes slip forward.
this strange feeling of father
drapes itself over my shoulders,
compliments the dormant daughter.

long pepper hair and soft cratered skin
trace the pleasantly grueling cajun.
walking for years on oyster shells
and salt water. engine grease
under fingernails.

i stare past the glass and smudged paint,
announce that i will draw;
put on paper the way i've never felt
before. he tells me the best thing to draw
on the road are the white dotted lines.

a subject that never changes, even in turns
or collisions. a quiet model that fades
infinitely ahead. always glaring under tires
and soft edged in the distance.

01/11/2008

Posted on 01/11/2008
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