Why drive?
Body hurts
From toes to my head
And to arms, legs and tail.
And still I drive, in hands wheel.
Yes money is needed
But isn't all the deed.
I look and learn; seeing
Take photos, reserving
Memories in changing…
Walls and shops, streets and repairs
Here, there, the cars and bicycles
The people in and on and behave,
And artworks, and paintings everywhere.
Driving is hard and dangerous
But still is a source, precious
Doing right, doing wrong
Observing what goes on.
Driving as I find is my source
And is root and trunk, inspires.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem