Friday Drive

I’m looking for things I’ve never seen.

Basketball goals stand far, far away

from the Buick, and backyard-mountains

seem much more inconvenient

than what I initially thought.

Twice, I get that roller-coaster stomach,

when I drive to the top of hills so steep

that I can only see blue—

blue skies, hazy blue mountain-tops

in the farthest distance—twice,

my breath leaves in a zero-G gasp,

and it feels like the point

of no return. It feels like staring

at the salted night sky

and wondering if anybody else

is out there. And then I crash

into reality again, wanting to keep

my foot off the brake and

speed down the hill so fast

that I start flying. Maybe that curve

at the bottom will launch me far enough

to reach those hazy-blues.