1.
My teachers remain deaf with few grumbles
unless tires hit shoulders or markers.
I sip coffee and steer with one hand.
Fluorescent markers bap-bap-bap
like a ruler rapped on young knuckles
and I am humble, resume one lane
to travel California without denting
avocado orchards or cotton boles.
I set cruise control at 80.


2.
They spit bugs bright as mustard blossoms
and I decipher each new death as if
wings hold no import.
By mid-day I’ve got the continents.
June bug is Africa.
Cabbage butterfly is Asia.
Horsefly is a South American delta
plaited by dark veins once light as flight.
Mosquito is Oahu.
Gnat – a pimple on the ocean floor.


3.
They spell “Mountain” G-R-A-D-E.
I understand Pass or Fail
by guardrails bloodied blue by sedan scrapes,
twisted into looping L’s by big rigs
top heavy in the acute curves
or the stench of burning brakes.
This road leads one way; that bend
another.   Bap-bap-bap,
just the bell to slow the tarmac take
as speed signs whiz past in a Braille
I can’t reach to feel.


4.
I am the outer edge of a pleated fan.
Furrowed rows of crops find a point I can’t
and bush beans replace onions in a wink.
Aqua is the color of the aqueduct.
Ochre is the color of the hills
rolling on conveyor belts into where I have been,
while out in front all the gold is still,
like a Manet wheat field.


5.
It’s a shuffle-ball-change eye act
between side views of where I could be –
topping November’s plum trees
with orange long-handled loppers, working
off ladders set against acres of Fall –
and tar-patched highway potholes.
And the oblong mirror facing back shows
the teacher patient as shoulder grass
or trails as yet untracked.

   
6.
I am gone.  I am come back.
The signage of crops and semi tire rinds
on the roadside have taken me in.
These land legs hum with the road whir,
carry me to the chalkboard of bed
where I am a singular atlas, a conundrum,
a chemistry quiz of mesas, ravines, washboard
dirt well-traveled, a byway.  Pass or Fail. 

~

[last revised 11/23/2009 9:36 AM]

An excellent extended conceit, Lynn. I think it's really good.

Rich, flavoursome writing, but my favourite is "as speed signs whiz past in a Braille / I can’t reach to feel."

Only one geeky spelling nit - florescent? Is there a missing u, or is that a clever use of a different word?

Tremendous final image of the teacher in your mirror, and "trails as yet untracked" is nicely reminiscent of Frosty (the snow man).

Cheers

David

Extraordinary. The language is maintained throughout, nothing slips gear. David is right about the spelling. f-l-o, the flowering variant would not work, not even in a disjunctive way?
Really exceptional poem. A pick for sure, but later.

larry

Fixed the f-l-o to add the 'u' and thank you both for the catch; I knew that had a 'u' but somehow missed it -- twice!

Thanks for kind words.  I had some fun with this.  But did wonder if the wrap up was perhaps a bit too tidy?

Hey Lynn,

I haven't commented on one of yours in a while and I'm loving the first 4 verses, they all seem so hinged to one another.  There is nothing that stands out in the last verse, but on my second reading, it doesn't feel as connected to the others. 

I will read again later...see if I'm just missing something.

Tim

Tim, yes.  I think perhaps I hurried a conclusion, thus the disconnect.  Thanks for input.

ld

With the addition of stanzas in revision, am posting the original submit here.

Lynn, I think the additions are mining something different than the poem's initial ore. I will probably be in the minority, but I like the original. I like the simple illustration and the end line, as David first noted, is strong and holds the poem together. One suggestion for the title: Road Lessons.

larry

Lynn, I'm kind of with Larry on the additions...although I think V6 is incredibly powerful, and now that I'm rereading it, what happens if this becomes V5 and the final verse...maybe that chuckers up the whole works.  And kudos to Larry for that title suggestion...

Just my thoughts,
Timoteo

Ha!  My working title was "Road Lessons" and then I thought the "My teachers" opening needed a strong arrow to set up roads as teachers . . .

Thank you guys for coming back and weighing in.  As both versions are here, I'll let it rest and figure out what next.  [In other words, figure out how to rotate the tires, buy recaps, or run as they were.]

Consistent, yes, and steady, Lynn. Wan like a long sunlit day on the road. Conveys, to me, in a beautiful way, a view of life as a collection of incidentals or something. Tom

Thanks!  Much appreciated.

Hope the consistency is still there, Tom.  I've made some edits to 5. and 6. [the earlier versions are below for comparison].  I've swapped out some areas and cut a few lines. 

5.
I am learning mile by mile
and unlearning as I go
but the oblong mirror facing back shows
the teacher patient as the shoulder grass
or trails as yet untracked.
It’s a shuffle-ball-change eye act
between side views of where I could be –
topping November’s plum tree limbs
with long-handled orange loppers, working
off ladders set against sparse rust –
and tar-patched highway potholes.
This is the reward of the idle foot, asleep
at the pedal for Stop, for Go,
and high beams at twilight multiply voyages home.

   
6.
Now I am parked, thinking of routes.
I am gone.  I am come back.
And the signage of crops and semi tire rinds
on the roadside have taken me in.
These land legs hum with the road whir,
carry me to the chalkboard of bed
where I am a singular atlas, a conundrum,
a chemistry quiz of mesas, ravines, washboard
dirt well-traveled, an unanswered byway,
Pass or Fail.  After all, the wheel
will turn with air.