Friday Night
To this point in time the ride had been rough
But the demand on posture to counter the motion would be forgotten
As impatience fermented foretaste
We took the detour,
Passed crisp, transparent slopes
Where mostly water fell into man made lakes
And the now distant mountains, with their treacherous descent would become
Embellished with a layer of illusory snow
At last we could switch off the noisy engine
And recline in our cerebral comfort
Intentionally stalling, windows fogging, distorting and enhancing the views.
Tunes shared through the muffled transmission of inarticulate hosts
Maybe a fools paradise from a wiser angle
We didn't care! This place was familiar and easily accessible.
But we knew if we did not leave before darkness fell we could not return home safely from here.
poem by Stevie Taite
Added by Poetry Lover
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