Glorious Chariot

Along the perilous curves
Of a snaking thoroughfare
In constellations of raindrops
Speckling the windshield
And the mewling of rubber blades
Wiping them away
In gentle, protective seatbelt hugs
And their satisfying clicks
Just past the headlights’ reach
In brilliant rearview reflections
Among coffee stains and rock salt grains
And fogged breath on the window panes
In the humming heater
And the throbbing speakers
Beside the pilot’s throne
And within every tiny stitch thereof
Under the sweeping ashen hood
Somewhere between fourth and fifth gear
Poetry hides
Waiting to be driven