Friday, September 03, 2010

Poetry Friday: Planes Are Too Fast

Planes are too fast,
Walking too slow,
Bicycles are grand,
But a car
On a twinned strip of gray-tan highway
Sided by pines,
Dwarfed by boiling clouds
Turning orange on the Gulf
In the low-slung sun,
Sarah to the right,
Girls to the back,
Attending in silence
To thoughts of sand
And dune-scrub
And wind-swept salt and aching heat—
Such transport
Is perfect.
Which is my fancy Poetry Friday way of saying,* we're going to the beach!** Whooh! Catch you on the flipside. (Whatchya got, poetically speaking?)

* My aunt's been fussing at me to write some non-jokey poems, (we of The Simpsons Generation, we love our ironic distance) so there ya go: not a humorously stilted rhyme in sight. (I don't claim it's anything special, just that it's not at all funny.)

** Because despite what you might think, plenty of the Gulf beaches are oil-free and wide open (though this misconception allowed us to book a cabin in a Florida State Park on Labor Day weekend with minimal lead time).


  1. I always end up tails
    When I should be heads.
    I'm pliable as Play-Doh
    Rather than tough as nails.

    A beer is a refreshing drink
    That quenches my thirst.
    Beer doesn't help me write poetry
    And it doesn't help me think.

    Airplanes go fast,
    Faster than cars on New Orleans' bumpy streets.
    I ride a motorcycle
    Though I'm not the first to arrive,
    I'm rarely the last.

  2. Anonymous9:31 PM


    I have
    To say.

  3. Anonymous9:32 PM

    Nice, Slim and Whalehead.