Night Drive

I want to get into the car
And drive on and on in the dark
Making for Santa Fe or New Orleans,
Anywhere but this house, this cape of claims
With its goose down, gimme’s and get me nows.
I am not Rapunzel. I’ve no wish
To be climbed like Everest
And then obligated to provide
A cool drink, a warm bath
To the usurpers of my solitude.

In the car there is only the steering wheel,
The gas and the brake
To operate at will.
I have been alone, but not alone enough.
The children will have to go elsewhere
For mother care, and adequate feedings.
I will live on roadside apple pie and night air.
I will grow like Night Shade;
Shed my size and tower
Into the open sky with stars.
I will steal a convertible
And live lush on the lam.
Mother will always be somebody else:
The woman just in the corner
Of my sped up vision,
Shushing a backseat of brats
In a different lane;
A woman who bears
No resemblance to me.