coffee & windows rolled down, taking in
the smell of road-apples on steaming asphalt
while the sun declares its freedom to bake
my lobster-red arm
feels fine to flow at 65
over the pitted zigzagging Amish trails
shunning the black buggies from the 18th century-

I think, 'it's all about choices' but
is that true? --I tune the station to seek
the smooth stuff to sway my ducking
& weaving the threaded needle
passing to the left, right, and through the eye
unfettered by a thousand piddly thoughts
occupying my optics to blink a crash--

I race against the fringes
of opaque unruly life,
and the dense human
show of being
a chooser