Riding

 

Take me for a ride in your big German car.

The one where the windows slide up over the world,

And we glide all over the city, not talking.

So silently and smoothly as I sit in the leather molding, me like a Hapsburg princess

bowing and waving to my sidewalks.

Take me in your big German car to Soho

Where we can eat in places with names like countries that have abbreviated

Themselves into booths and red leather seats and shared dishes served by waiters

With hair that is curled into spires of cities yet unknown to me.

Turn on your woman who tells you where to go, how to navigate the world,

With a voice that is low from under the dashboard,

Almost guttural,

So strict you do it even when I ask you not to.

Take me in your car on the highway above and around and we can see the city

Lights and we glide along you and me with the resting arm place between us and

The purr purr of the great German machine telling me not to worry

Until morning.

There’s music to be heard from azure squares and the BBC world makes

Everything all right,

The proper perspective as

I braid my hair,

Polish my alpenrose,

Lower my lederhosen, while you drive us into the night.