Issue 165, Spring 2003
3 days, 6 meals, 8 coffees have I driven
just to see the island.
I have turned off the radio 90 times
to listen for the sea
whistling through my roof rack, Aeolian.
I have left you, speech, my tongue
dumb as a thumb.
I have taken off my boots,
one foot out the window,
one sock to the pedal,
yet another wild boy astronaut
breaking the law, flying
toward a hole in the bottom of the sea.
Yes, I have told the hostess, I am he.