Driving on Greenway Road at Night by Joan Biddle
He was shiny like a candlestick,
like a lost saw, like lightning, like
a crash of wayward fiddlesticks.
She sat like a broken yawn.
The wheel turned like a cobra,
her cheek was like laughing heather.
He gazed out like two fallen stars,
he bounced like tires over spilled tars.
Her lips moved like dew,
she wed him and drove him through.
The trees devoured the cove like beanstalks,
canopied the street like fur.
She steered onto his shoulder like a barnacle,
he caught onto her sweater like a burr.
She tweezed him out like a soldier,
he flew like a dulcet missive,
she sighed like a sieve.