Let’s fill a flask you and I
and take to the back roads I drove
when I was sixteen and always late,
when the ditches were improbable,
when the ditches were a siren call,
clouds of dust rolled from my wheels,
neighbors watched from farmhouse windows
my reckless speed, my sober restraint
told my father I should
slow down. You’ll put your hand
on my knee, and I’ll have
worn a skirt just in case I press
down hard on the pedal and once
again let myself fly, the sky
rolling up the windshield
like a canvas, like a curtain.
Let’s get this show
on the road.

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