grass skirts chase Elvis

(via Clker-Free-Vector-Images)

I drive easy, lazy with the wheel
fingertips warm

and the winter sun not at all hesitant:
it doesn’t creep across concrete
dragging reluctant shadows —
it hits hard,
landing big swings

and I have just enough music to last
me a nuclear winter
cooped up inside a shoe

shaking

in my head, as if adrenal
glands had popped

and now I see grass skirts chasing Elvis,
aeroplanes lurking off-screen
and next year is rushing toward me
flying through the calendar
like a dry wind

chaff collecting in the backseat
as weekends melt like English Toffee.