Little Red MG

In the drivers seat
she is, driving fast
along the night lanes and well lit miles
the passing buildings and streets electric
laid out neatly in a blur of dust
the patterns in the sky
the low slung moon courting a planet
conjuncted and yet millions of miles separate
ideas across the dark
little red dressed sporty and smart
racing mischief and moving like a dart
along the network of streets of the map
up and down roaring groan
of the gears that slow her down
and make her sigh as the
cheering crowds subside
the clatter of feet
and fluttering leaves