Skinny dirt road In the middle of the ocean. That led to the house of art. I took it. The engine nearly Drowned. I lied that it was fun That I'd do it again. When I got to That shore The house was gone and when I looked back, so was the path. Now I'm old. Drown in my bed A thousand miles inland. For years I thought I could Art my way back. Cats sing Of rose dawns. This country's a Mirror image Of the one I left, except I've bad dreams. And You're the only Person who's not here. Is it the same For you.
About this Poem
"This poem is a play-by-play of a dream. I stole the twist at the end from Bukowski (!). I think of 'Joyride' as pop art."
Ana Božičević is the author of Rise in the Fall (Birds, LLC, 2013) and Stars of the Night Commute (Tarpaulin Sky Press, 2009).
Date Published: 2013-11-26
Source URL: https://poets.org/poem/joyride