When the World Learned to Drive

Hello, and Happy Poetry Friday! Be sure to visit Katya at Write. Sketch. Repeat. for Roundup. This is my last post before my WILD 10 Year Blogiversary Celebration, coming Monday, November 9! Actually, the link will go live Sunday evening. Along with all the WILD links, I'll be sharing 14 Things I've Learned from 10 Years of Blogging . I'm excited!!!

Today I have for you an original poem. Last month I attended My Favorite Poem, a community poetry reading here in Birmingham in which folks share their favorite poem and why it's important to their lives. One high school student shared "When the World Was Ten Years Old He Fell Deep in Love with Egypt" by Patricia Lockwood -- and I fell in love with using the world as a way to write a poem. The very next day I wrote this poem about our 15 year old son who is the world and our youngest son and who has already passed his driving test and is waiting for The Day to arrive when he can officially drive off into the sunset... without his mother beside him.

When the World Learned to Drive (for Eric)- after Patricia Lockwood

When the world learned to drivehe started on back roads, trimneighborhood streets, his eyeswatchful for trash cans and cats.At first his foot came down hard,his hands slick against the wheel,right turn right turn right turnuntil he was thank God, back home.
When the world learned to drive,he grinned at stop signs,their bold-print and eager facesfamiliar as his reflection,and equally as maddening –until he learned the feather-art of rubber sole easy-easy against rubber pedal.
When the world learned to drivehe couldn't wait to take the interstate.He dreamed of long rampsand fast, smooth mergings,was unruffled by the whooshof semi trucks or the red Mustangrushing his back bumper.The world simply thumbed the wheeland adjusted his rearview mirror.
And then there was no stopping him:he craved city traffic, stop-and-go,cloverleafs and flyovers.His faith steamed like asphaltafter a summer shower, he studiedmaps for sinkholes and mountains,strapped himself in and didn't look back.
Not soon enough he learned to navigate Highway 280,it's ant-lines and zipper lines and no linesa language he could understand: hip-hop lyrics, piano, drumbeat –with a little reggae thrown in.To celebrate, the world bought four pair of sunglasses,kept both hands on the wheel.Didn't text while driving, or eat,or cry, though sometimes the sunsetwas so beautiful he had to clear his throat.
The world was a good listener,had always been a good listener.He believed each yellow light was a message from God –sometimes, Hold On, sometimes, Let Go.He knew and his mother knewand every song he would ever write knewthat there was a roadsomewhere with his name on it,and if there wasn't, the world would build it.

- Irene Latham