I get indignant when I can’t do 60
right away on the freeway–
like it’s my inalienable right
to do five above the limit.
The sky here in late fall, says Laura
“is like it is in Kansas all winter.”
It’s grey, featureless.
My friend I haven’t seen in a year at least,
at a party: “I’m writing for a living now,
about the environment.
How about you?”
“That’s great.” I reply.
I get indignant when I’m going too fast
life like a giant ball of rock
hurling toward the castle wall.
This is not where I wanted to drive this morning,
through the grey of a Kansas winter,
doing 50 on the freeway.