Tuesday, November 9, 2010

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
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)

1 comment:

  1. When my husband and I get our convertible, this poem will be posted on the dashboard!