Sometimes I Dream of Freeways
by Anna Manahan Bowman

I live, by day, in a Hi-Thelma, two lane town
where cereal is stocked in
this brand or that, and a yes nod
buys a used chevy at the corner garage;
where heads are recognized as easily
in curlers as not,
and lawn chairs line the parade route
two full days ahead;
where policemen shake their fingers and say,
"Don't let me catch you doing that again!"
and snitz and knepp is Friday's lunch
at the volunteer fire station.

At night, I leather up and harley toward
flashing neon.