Clyde Tressler

A Car the Color of the Early Sky

If I had a car the color of the early sky,
I would drive until the sun streaked its sides,
and the blinking towers bent like wheat.
Wind would be everything,
and songs would sing through the radio,
Don't you know! Don't you know!

Framed by the window,
the swan's wings would pump alongside,
and its long neck would stretch with the speed of wheels
that turn against the appearance of direction.

Lines would map my way to straight towns,
arrows of destination to fly through, motor humming,
lights green as far as I could see.


The 2River View, 4.3 (Spring 2000)