Bonny Doon, Cabrillo Highway 1
I don’t know which way I’m going
Got girls behind me and my boys in between
Overcast, but I’m still squinting tight
Hundred beaches, I’m driving up to Oakland
Pampas grass sway, hanging moss hang
Exhaustless cars, I’m exhausted so far
Radio silence and a confusion swelling
Independence is the keys to the car
All the two-lanes merge into one
Yellow light ended quick and now it’s red
Let me into your heart, even if I can’t stay
This native Summer is crashing hard
Keeping tidy my plans to make out good
Got fears behind me and my dreams in view
But the fog never leaves the sun for good
At an equestrian compound I sit
serenely at sunrise on the pond’s bank.
Birds swoop soft to catch the morning’s sweet air.
They chirp at the light and I think of sleep.
To the left of my bench perch a rooster
stands guard over a family of ducks,
his authoritative eye watches me.
A golf cart glides by on the road behind us.
I jump as the rooster’s call startles me.
The air raid siren rattles to a gasp.
Night had not slowed me. I felt surreal, strange.
Struck conciously deep in my lonely thought.
She said, “It won’t get any easier, I promise.”
Shameful spite echoed like far away thunder,
Living thunder can ignite entropy
and emerging adults from their frozen restlessness.
In this long summer we are starwealthy.
We dive from the bank like little white minnows.
Raging freaks dance in front of dusty fires
lethargy lost and purring synapses.
I’ve found that together there is never
really cause for anything but rejoicing.