It's still Saturday—slow, slothful, slightly soulful—Saturday morning. For another hour. I awoke early and discovered the weather to be incompatible with plans. I went back to sleep and reawoke late. Really late. Then lazy breakfast with bride and nephews and nephews' companions. Revised plans. Excursion for them; rainy day water coloring and poetry editing for me. Calm. Mostly quiet except for ...
Slow
Speed
Foot off the gas, Feather the brake, Rock in my gut. (Source: "Speed Trap I", 40x41: Midlife Crisis Postponed) This comes early in a three-part poem called "Speed Traps". Driving too fast. Again. Pardoned. Thank you, officer! This poem cycle is actually about driving a car, not a motorcycle. It's been many moons since I rode motorcycles. But I still dream, daydream, relive roads/rides. Update: ...