Night Rider

Night Rider

Late at night
or maybe
the early morning,

I step into
my auto.
I release the clutch.
The engine does not roar.
The sound of silence
releases the brake.

The pad of my soles
caresses the pavement
—the ride begins.

Along highways
and byways I go.
My vehicle does not putter
—it rolls.

We stroll through towns
long enough to know
it’s time…
Yes, time to get off the pavement…
time to create our own tracks.

We cut corners
—take wide turns.
Ah, the thrill of no traffic signals
or signs:
YIELD, STOP, etc.

The stars beckon.
I lift my feet
—the chassis
rises…we’re airborne.

I turn the wheel
as we maneuver
over steep mountain tops.

The ocean’s waves
glitter us with the salt of
the sea.

Desert sands create
castles as we hover
overhead

and fireflies join the
stars lighting our ride.

In the east a soft pink
hue revealed,
time to touchdown.

I shift the gears
—my soles again touching
the pavement.

I step out…
close the door.

Very few would believe…

but my night rider…

well, it also needs no keys.

4 replies
  1. Ann Pawlik
    Ann Pawlik says:

    Sandy, I just loved this! Only you coould express yourself in such an imaginative way that I could be on the journey, too! The picture is priceless. I never reveal the picture until I read the poem fully. I was surprised but so enjoyed the poem even more when I saw the picture. I have one of those in the backyard!

    Reply

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