Blue Impala

That time I stole a blue Impala in Flagstaff

   the first year they made those automatic windows, you know?

   I was sixteen and I was cruising down the highway 

 

Hot on the trail to Albuquerque 

I was hungry

             and I was howling, man.

It was like stealing the best horse in the herd.

Copyright © 2014 by Laura Tohe. This poem originally appeard in Cream City Review. Used with permission of the author.