Escaping from Autopia
but even leaving, longing to be back,
to do again what I did yesterday—
I, Miss Highway, I couldn’t drive off track
or crash. I joined the candy-coated pack
to follow yellow lines and concrete, gray
but even. Leaving. Longing to be back
beyond those lines, in other lines. Like smack
these flashback rides, E-ticket crack: You pay
you have to stay. I couldn’t drive off track,
or spin to face my enemies’ attack.
The road signs told me “NOW LEAVING L.A.”
but even leaving, longing to be back
to go again. I knew I had a knack
for getting there and going. Child’s play,
And anyway, I couldn’t drive off track,
once safety-strapped onto that strip of black.
I couldn’t lose or get lost on the way,
but even leaving, longing to be back
and be okay. I couldn’t drive off track.
Included in The Misread City: New Literary Los Angeles