Gary Lark
There’s a hammer on the floor
sliding on sharp curves.
A shovel plays hockey with beer cans
in the pickup bed,
goal posts changing down the snake road.
What you don’t understand
goes better with speed—
feeling the pull of inertia,
the rev and push of a good engine,
almost in control.
I’m driving into foreign land.
Gravel flies as I ride the ridges
past everything I know.
Also by Gary Lark
Lost / The Advice is Free
