A transient foot, itching like the devil,
Stands on it -- stands on the pedal.
And the radio wigs out, wigs in.
It sounds like a puking robot, she remarked.
She talked like New York City and smirked
Like Paris pronounced pear EEE.
The radio wigs out, jogs in, much higher,
wuBWAAahhs like a computer choir
Looping the loop on a roller coaster.
Why have we been sitting still
This long, simmering day? he thinks,
Why are we letting the road so far
Pass us by like we're dents in the car?
Ditch the Ferrari then, she remarked
(the universal sign for "Who gives a toss?")
Tomorrow maybe it'll be no big loss,
Maybe an airplane will pick us up
Maybe a parade float, or a UFO.
That what I'm talkin' 'bout!
An itchy foot can scratch its arches
With the roadside gravel it over marches.
And a tire spins lazy, muddled and slow
As the car cuts air where the seabirds go,
Washed to sleep by the laughing surf.
Above, they stood like a Valentine card.
Now there's a map snapping out its creases,
Flattening out before their sneakers,
Moving over the land like a shockwave.