El Camino

New tar, bright yellow stripe
Shoots like Tommy-gun lead,
Under the chrome bumper,
Ricochets up the hill
In the rear view.

Wheels swing,
Lazy drunk dance partner,
Shoulder to shoulder
Over the black spine stretching,
Groaning into the yawning, folded
Paper promise of connect-the-dots.

Sun cuts a hard edge,
Sharpens the left fender,
Slashes a white gash
Steering wheel to glove box
Sleepy with old fingers
Stretching for the horizon. 

The End

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