Cruis’n Is Made for Love
Russell Nichols
To be in a race against
time implies the clock is, too,
constrained by winding tracks,
a chassis of choice, and unreal
crash physics—but time goes
beyond the squeal of tires, neutral
unlike you and i, our drive fueled by
premium desire as we arrive at the next
checkpoint!
and every second with you counts
more than any stunt
this is us against the world
against an ever-emerging backdrop
of paper mache mountains penetrated
by snakeskin tunnels, of pyramids
and other representative landscapes
repetitive pines repetitive palms
sweaty hands scrape for the next
checkpoint!
A is for accelerate
as techno raves, amped up
to drown out the holy honks
from rollers left behind
coughing up dust, exhausted—
we pop wheelies to stop feeling
remorse, knowing there is no going
back now that we’ve learned to make
fire tracks DeLorean-like
over sand dunes, rubber burns
the grass is always
static—sudden turns into the next
checkpoint!
watch out for giraffes
steer clear of roaming UFOs
you and i have been known to defy
gravity and protocol
mission control code green
we’re gonna fly away
the shuttle opens up—let’s go
inside, fully loaded
like questions unknowable:
will there be any half-naked bodies
dancing at the finish line?
will our initials be machine-stamped
on the memorial of good times?
after the credits roll,
will we land on the moon?