Tuesday, March 09, 2010

RWP Volta


Sixty miles per hour
along the Pacific Coast Highway
beside you, and you say, I wish
that you would lay your hand upon my thigh,

and so I do. The sea is gray with rain,
and no perceptible horizon reveals
saltwater to sky.

Now that I am old, ad patres, as it were,
and you are older still, I regret to say
that yours was not the first
my hand had touched.

(ad patres, Latin, to be dead, to be gathered to ones forefathers.) :)


Kay McKenzie Cooke. said...

Yeah! Like it! Another book coming together? :)

momA said...

interesting and thought provoking....I like it.

flaubert said...

Very evocative piece. Thanks for sharing.

Anonymous said...

very enjoyable!

Paul Oakley said...

I really like the way the first stanza flows from speed and place to exploration of the other to a wide, impersonal vista. Beautiful and real!

Age as a volta. Nice! After time to regret the early order of events is softly telling.

I enjoyed reading this poem, Joyce!

rallentanda said...


Tumblewords: said...

Perfect! It resonates with me and stirs a pot of memory from that same road.

Jo A. T.B. said...

I can see myself in this piece too! Getting older it seems nostalgic!