Written August 2009
Cruising around the backyard , hand on the wheel of my power wheel. Racing my kid brother, it just won’t go fast enough. Day dreaming about when I grow up, trade it in for a black Bronco like dad’s got. Downtown with time to kill for a bite, no worries, just my brother and I high on life.
Sweating hours on the farm, hand on the wheel of the Deere. Working tobacco with my best friend the hour hand seems stuck, I’m dreaming of my girl and skinny-dipping later in the lake. Then top down at the drive-in in the white Mustang, getting spiritual with the blood of Christ.
Labor Day weekend fair, Ferris Wheel with my love, two witnesses to the full moons’ beauty. Wishing I could stop this moment in time, the last weekend of youth. Smash the hour glass and eat fried dough, I’m a dead-eye with these carnival games. Time doesn’t stop, but slows bowl by bowl.
Indian summer, watching the wheels go round. Forced to make new friends of strangers with southern accents. Mark time marching to an age-old drum, driven like cattle to the outskirts of comfort. Taught how to focus, breathe steady, ready, aim, high on adrenaline and youthful ignorance.
Ten and two on the wheel threading needles, my new brothers riding beside and above me. I’m dreaming of white sand beaches and sun soaked women but stuck between two rivers in chariot of fire, dodging one way tickets. Chain smoking and coffee black after passing another pale horse.
Left hand on the wheel, right on a wormwood bottle, just me and a backseat of devils and demons. Reality begot nightmares and an atheist from a foxhole, nowhere to go but running still from that red horse. Parades and accolades and a guilty conscience, running down white lines, away from blue lights.
I’m White knuckled, crying at fallen minarets and deflated soccer balls in Flanders Fields. Trumpets blare as I kill Sirrush and lay with Whore of Babylon.