Automobiles and rolling wheels
That stop and go and slowly pull
Their cargo to the next event
Our pilot steers with patience years
Of brake lights, horns, and radios
Have formed like prints on wet cement
Packed inside we play I-Spy
And cheat and cry and duke it out
Till no one speaks and fall asleep
We hum along and wake and yawn
At waysides, pumps, and burger joints
To tumble out and bend our knees
We pile back in while bickering
On who's got dibs and who sits where
And someone's hogging all the grapes
Then settle down without a sound
And come to terms with where we are
And rest in knowing we are on our way