Almost missed the last race.
Top down in the back of a silver sedan,
you know the one: underbrush
rots at the crossroads, bank
of escalators, stableboys, mall,
a ferry slip with butter fingers,
slow horn blowing low notes,
ferris wheel sleeping in the next field,
joy-riders calling Come with me?
Number 9 in the home stretch. Phones
twitter,jockey for a roost in the seams
of the oak. Teenage girl thumbs
a lift to town. Jinxed sedan stops.
Saratoga Springs, it's summer 08.