Convertible

by Mark Bonica

At first the driver seems to be jerking her head
as if shaking off a bee
but then I see the rhythm in her movements
and catch a corner of her smile
as she bounces her head in the direction
of her passenger.

She infects him
and his head begins to bob
in time with hers.

I can’t help it,
I switch off the news and
roll down my window
to try to catch a bit
of what they are listening to.
It’s then that the light changes
and we all begin to pull away.

From a lane over, I follow
the little red car.
At the next light, I am alongside.
I hear a song from my youth
that makes me want to dance.

I throw open my door
and like Daisy Duke,
I jump into the front seat
of the convertible,
landing with TV precision
between the man and the woman.
They are, of course,
unsurprised.

I put my arms around them both
and as the light changes,
we pull away together,
heads bobbing,
friends for so long.

We roll down this length of road
collecting more passengers at each stop light
like a clown car.
Each of us hears the song of our youth,
each of us has been friends for so long.
It is never crowded
as long as the music keeps playing
and the wind keeps blowing.