Poetry on the Road
Some people wonder
where does poetry
come from…
where is it going?
I am inside my Volkswagen
driving up Interstate 44
near St.Louis into the night.
At this speed of 78,
I am just illegal
enough to be legal.
My bright lights shine
into the black.
I see white words
on my windshield
appearing and disappearing
before my eyes.
I steer my car
my writing eyes
into a poem.
Steve Heins