Vespa Ride to O’Hare

Praise, inside of me

   Of the dense ivy underneath the railroad
Strung all along what looks like a crossbow

   These highway structures can be quite fair, but
From many years ago

   The drive halfway there is fairly pretty
And the heavens we don’t really notice
    They look very real today to me…do they to you

I don’t know what you see, driving
   I hope we don’t get shot on the West side
So naked on this small motor
   They must know we go to the airport
Men stare from gas stations

    Jaywalkers staring and spitting

I hope we don’t get shot

    Our baggage above the back wheel

       like a horse’s rump

Praise to all the gods of spirits of song

    That come to you and you and you

Girl with cigarette and phone

  A war helicopter is parked and silent

    Then green light of the airport runway

Seeping through a tall white fence

    The light that sinks the people back down, down