Cruising, really cruising,
hard-on cruising, in the most
material thing I've known.
'66 mustang ,
the best Ford made --
navy blue, white convertible top
and leather, wooden steering wheel.
Brand new from Dad for your 16th,
I'm hoping that makes you 18 now.
"Poets are better at lying
than telling the truth,
and you are the Master."
In your most damning tone,
you are for sure pissed.
Sitting there in your bucket seat --
Audrey Hepburn-lotus style,
neck straight, blue eyes closed,
hands in your lap.
The fingers of the right hand
on the fingers of your left,
thumbs just barely touching.
A perfect 'mudra' and I wonder
where you picked that up.
We had just come from 2001,
heading to the neighborhood bar,
a shot of bourbon
and a cold beer.
"What do you think the monolith represents?"
I ask -- interested but feeling
like I'm breaking ice
since we left the bijou.
"All right we did your movie
and now you're taking me to a bar?
I thought we were going to the mountains
and watch the sun rise. You know,"