Poem: Convertible Women

Convertible women

know how to knot

the scarves that dance

off the racks.

Their hair laps

in ribbons at the nape

of their necks.

They have friends

with names like Nat

and Barb who swing

slightly on the turns

and suck their passenger-

seat cigarettes

with sage indifference.

Convertible women

meet the wind

and bend it around

their opaque

sunglasses.

They split the air

like red bullets.

All the brown hard-top lives

could flip

and still have something

to save them.

Convertible women

stick their necks

right out.

The wind escorts them

through the stop sign, past

the Chinese take-out

and the carpet emporium

and all the way out

to the dream roads, just them

and sound and sky.

(appeared in Free-Wheeling: Poems About Cars)