Treasure Island

Stephen Wylie


A Guilty Pleasure

How smoothly I swoop across a land
Haunted by mist.
Green and brown flow swiftly past,
An eerie dream of freedom.

A sonorous drone engulfs me,
Bearing me forward.
A more virtuous past,
Wrapped in global concern,
Slips away behind.
Enraptured now by machinery,
Thrust on me by circumstance;
Or was it chance?

How to refuse this delicious temptation,
When I must get to work?
Poverty the goad, effortless speed the allure,
Rubber's soft whispers soothe.
The road to Whitwick is paved with bad intentions.

Submitted: Monday, August 26, 2013
Edited: Monday, August 26, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Whitwick is where I work, the car provided by my employer. I've gone to buses now, this was written some time ago.

Comments about this poem (A Guilty Pleasure by Stephen Wylie )

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  • Roseann Shawiak (1/1/2014 7:28:00 PM)

    Wasn't sure if I should read this poem because of the title, but went ahead anyway. Expertly done.
    Enjoyed reading it - like how you stated your thoughts on the subject.
    Have always preferred driving my own car, but for years rode the bus and found all kinds of time
    to listen to music on my walkman and write. Nowadays take taxi's and write on the way. Not so
    much because of global concern as not enough money for gas to do everything I want to do. (Report) Reply

  • Dave Walker (12/30/2013 2:11:00 PM)

    A great flowing poem, it's easy to get in the trap of
    driving when it's as easy to catch a train or a bus.
    It's only when we think of all the ifs and buts that
    we remember. (Report) Reply

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