I stare past the dash, watching the lines
racing ahead of me as I approach the Concord Bridge.
My fingers drift to the radio?s volume,
resetting it to silence.
I listen to the symphony of the road,
the air being trapped under my tires,
compressing, then freeing itself,
like a stunted form of flight.
My foot oppresses the pedal.
My odometer ticks away the road ever faster.
On the bridge, I see my turn.
Gripping the wheel, my knuckles white.
My car rips through the bridge?s barrier.
Metal on metal, like a jet engine nearing flight.
I stare past the dash, watching the sky
racing ahead of me as I approach the Concord River.
My tires spin and the engine whines,
desperate for contact.
I listen to the sound of utter freedom.
The air rushes past my vehicle,
compressing, then expanding my heart,
like a hummingbird?s mid-flight.
My foot crushes my brake pedal.
My odometer pauses.
On the bridge, morning rush stares,
glaring its red eyes. My spirit contrite.
My car adds to the bridge?s barrier of cars.
Metal behind metal, suppressing my flight.