Driving through Nebraska I let my eyes wander
but not like little boys let their eyes drift
to their developing classmates' chests.
No, my eyes watch the passing cars as if I were
playing my own private game of Frogger until
I catch one with particular interest.
The car in front of me, a Ford something, plays
a Vegas-style Elvis imitation on its back,
one black metallic side lifted just slightly above
the other, as if to say, "Thank you very much."
The next-door neighbors play guitar and sing
backup for the drifting car while their children
perform the Atlantan version of hip-hop: krunk,
or so I'm told.
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