Friday Night Poem by Stevie Taite

To this point in time the ride had been rough
But the demand on posture to counter the motion would be forgotten
As  impatience fermented  foretaste

We took the detour,  
Passed crisp, transparent slopes
Where mostly water fell into man made lakes
And the now distant mountains, with their treacherous descent  would become
Embellished with a layer of illusory snow
 
At last we could switch off the  noisy engine
And recline in our cerebral comfort
Intentionally stalling, windows fogging, distorting and enhancing the views.
Tunes  shared through the muffled transmission of inarticulate hosts

Maybe a fools paradise from a wiser angle
We didn't care! This place was familiar and easily accessible.
But we knew if we did not leave before darkness fell we could not return  home safely from here.