It was so hot there were lions by the roadside--
Floating like dust clouds into town,
Your hair was smooth and Indian dark--
Goddess love a flat iron,
And the highway heading north.
In the fierce heat of afternoon we stopped for coffee ice--
Yours pressed cold against my neck,
Sweating wet, nice.
John Law stopped us just past the interchange,
And the lions gave him their golden-eyed look
As he flipped open his book...
You had your sunglasses on your hair in case Heaven should appear,
And charmed that man like a gypsy thief
With God's love stashed beneath our seats.
Like the August sun going down,
Like your summer-browned thighs, lionesses side by side,
Like the day behind us nearly gone and the
Road into the headlight night, toward home.
(for STWIASD, who loves a road trip)