Driving Poem by Kevin Patrick

Driving has always been my mother's confessional, and the road our church without heavy-handed sermons
It's where pieces of my childhood can be found, and traced, in the tableaux of my identity.
It's the road where id find myself free from the stationary world of confusion. And where the dogs were slow to chase and eat me
Its on the never-ending asphalt, off the slick horizon where I can breathe, and find peace.
Id take drives all day if I could,
spend many weekends just riding through the pleasant countryside off the old number 2 highway,
passing pastures and meadows and half-forgotten towns
as if my eyes are swimming through an impressionist's canvass that goes on perpetually, off the depth perception of infinities kiss. I feel the humming of the engine releasing a week's tension as I drift off towards uncharted vistas that drive my imagination. I could speed at my own pace, and not worry about the rat race, that I've left far behind in my unravelling mind. Like my mother I know this is the place where I can scream and not be heard, or hear the threats of unkind words. I can put my foot on the petal and just move forwards, never looking backwards at the mistakes that stand in the rear view like disappearing ghosts.
I am moving forwards not backwards.
I take a swig from an orange crush can, keep a hand steady on the rubberized mold, as if my hands are massaging it. I look out and see a small spider on the bottom window, cradled in windshield compartment. I could pry it loose, one swift switch and the windshield could flick it off and bat it like a baseball, but I don't, the spider might be a freeloader, but I enjoy its company from the other side of the window. Mercy lays on my shoulders, and I pay the debt forward with interest for the future.
In the car I need no priest to tell me right or wrong
There is no need for ceremonies or the pomp of psalms
I drive with no true destination in mind
No map or guide, just intuition on my side
I could die in this car driving
And it wouldn't matter
For I have already spend it in this heaven
This is my coffin of choice
And it houses my voice
I can bury myself at eighty miles and run
And never feel like that im trully alone
I can drive forever if I could
Going nowhere and everywhere all in a day's stroll.
Id chase the sun - over the countryside's where tranquility resides
Id follow the moon - into the cities where the buildings hold stars
Gently, and softly
Hear in my mother's church
Where the road never grows old
Driving, and driving and driving…..