My Big American Car

Driving in my big American car. Right hand drive.

Beside me, the mayor's blonde daughter smiling. She asks me if I need all the seats.

I say I guess not. So I sell her the driving seat for eleven dollars.

I like driving in a car with no driving seat. More leg room that way.

I love my big American car. It's big and white and secret, like a mafioso car in a movie.

I drive far up a dirt track. On a reconnaissance mission. Electric lights on in the car by means of a switch.

Contrary to the highway code, I switch all lights off. Because I'm on a secret mission.

I peep out from the curtains I have drawn across the side windows. And drive very slowly.

I see in the distance the back of my own house. There's a bedroom curtain half-drawn. There's a lightshade slanting from the ceiling.

(Secret knowledge of abandoned rooms.)

I reach the end of the dirt track. With difficulty I sweep the car into a U-bend and back toward the main road.

Heading fast toward the main road and home.