I have this reoccurring dream
That the day I get my
License I will turn off the
GPS and listen to the road

And my David Gray CD in
The dashboard will propel
Me to have no plan, no where
To go; just keep moving, so

When I see the exit for
Northern Virginia, depending
On my mood I either flip it off
Or hop on and somehow

Arrive at your doorstep (sans
Map) Where I knock and your
Flustered hummingbird of a mother
Will answer the door and

She won’t remember my name,
It has been so long, and I’ll ask
Her if you are home and sometimes
She says yes but you’re sleeping

And I go in to wake you up but other
Times she says you’re out with that
‘Lovely’ girl I hear you’re with now and
Somehow this all feels like enough