I saw a truck pulling a boat on the city streets.
The driver of the truck was hired to transport the boat to water.
In the boat itself, in the little foc’sle (boat lingo) the proud owner was standing at the wheel.
He’s obviously rich because the boat was not small.
Not quite a yacht, not in the fishing business, but a boat to stand up in with a motor behind.
I caught his face in passing.
His smile of satisfaction betrayed the mastery of his life, his future, open water ahead.
I drove by in my car.
I waved. He waved back.
The truck driver kept driving.



I wear my hat aslant
to block the sun.
We’re driving south.
The hat slants right.
Coming back up,
I’ll tilt it
to the other side.
The sun remains the same.




Flea market today.
Everybody’s hopping to it.



More things I notice.
I think I’m doing it more and more.
I think, in retrospect, that I mostly just lived day to day, noticing some things, aware of some but not fully aware of what I was aware of.
They call that “dimly aware.”
There are other names for it.



Viagra of the spirit.



After the election.
We hire people to do the jobs we cannot do.
There used to be something called the “work ethic.”
People learned, were trained, certified, monitored, became professional and did a job.
Civilization runs on wheels and slides by on grease.
Everyone had a job to do and did it.
Oh, those days.
Inertia drags us down to “our baser nature.”
God becomes money.
School, yes, I was a teacher then, taught everyone that there is more to life, and people lived in levels.
I see a power rising from the earth, and I am young again.



Coffee Shop on Wheels.
A little family business.
Mountain Coffee.
A custom trailer that works the outdoor markets, brews on request, delivers satisfaction.
Driving down the freeway at 2:12 in the afternoon.
I hope they had a good morning.
I hope they can afford the price of gas.

Semi-random observations:
Sign: Flooring Liquidation.

What? No foundation? Flooded basement?


Captain of
Is it a ship, a plane, an army, an industry?
The Captain of Aye Aye.
We remember the Mutiny
and the Bounty
struggle
and democracy,
cabbages and kings.



Gassing up at COSTCO.
The haphazardly harried woman
at the gas pump ahead in line
needed help to manage the pump.
The guy in a vest,
the employee on duty,
came over and showed her how.
We drove up and
took her empty space.




Trees aflame in autumn color.
Which are imports?
Which native California?
Some are from Back East,
some down from Canada.
Did Johnny Appleseed
bring and plant
more than apples?



People call names
from a meanness of spirit,
sometimes to dominate,
grind the heel on the fallen head,
rub their superiority
in the face of lesser hopeless,
and sometimes
it’s just to join the bully crowd,
the pathetic attempt
to fit in.




I almost blushed
almost
at the sign that said
“The Rear End.”
What are they selling
or giving away?
We drove on by,
didn’t stop,
it’s not on our itinerary.




When we gassed up at COSTCO,
I kept the receipt,
a lot of numbers
like a political statement.
Then we checked the air
in the tires.
We’re good to go.




My card says “Writer.”
The earlier
more elegant
version
said “Poet/Writer.”
Either way
will get you to me.




She said
“You write beautiful poetry.”
I could not disagree.




Speed Limit 60.
I’m 85.




The famous actor
sired a child at 80.
How insensitive!
To produce a child
who will never know his father.




The famous Jack Benny joke:
Mugger: “Your money or your life!”
Silence.
Mugger: “I said, your money or your life!”
Answer: “I’m thinking, I’m thinking.”


It’s funny as a joke
and we laugh.
But in the “real world”
there’s no distinction.
Hmm.




I thought they were unshorn sheep
but they were tumbleweeds
growing randomly in an open field.
Why do they grow like that?
Don’t they know how confusing they are?
Do I expect plants to know more than me?
Apparently.




Sign: Los Angeles 318.
We’ve come less than a hundred.
Seems like more
and less.
Like everything,
and we don’t need a sign.
Now it’s 311.
Progress.
They talk about
“diminishing returns,”
as if it’s a bad thing.
Context, Context!



When you say
“I can’t follow you,”
I say
“Then you take the lead.”
That’s when
you shut your pie hole.




The fence stops
random things
from blowing across the road
making driving dangerous.

So Robert Frost was right.




Choosing Choices.
Riding in the car
with idle thoughts,
sometimes I muse
in ways
you might call pornographic.
I keep them to myself,
don’t write them down,
and show restraint.
I do realize that
were I to write them down
I’d have
a whole new
different career.
The act of choice
is what makes us human.
Some people don’t choose
because they don’t know how,
haven’t learned.
Some people
who know how
but choose not to choose
are less than fully human.
I can give advice
But you choose.




It’s too much, life.
I’m worn out
and done in.




I can never understand
why they put a motel
in the middle of nowhere.
But now that I think of it,
I guess people
on a long journey
from here to there
have to stop and rest
partway.
I’m from L. A.
We drive everywhere
and anywhere for hours
and it’s still just L. A.
We’re on the cutting edge
of the New World.
No wonder
the old world
is afraid of us
because they know
we’re right,
but don’t understand
we’re all inclusive
and know the way.
If you’re in the middle of nowhere,
just keep driving.




We’re Binge-watching Bond.
Bond.
James Bond.
We’re going in order,
Starting with Dr. No
and Ursula Undress.
I still can’t believe
there are any we haven’t seen.
I mean, there are always
bad guys
and escapes
and fancy weapons
and a lot of flying
and boats and skiing
and gambling and dying
and gratuitous travel locations
and through it all
the transmogrifications
of actors and character emphasis
there is always
Bond and Moneypenny
and M and Q and Felix
and those horrible one-liners
like the clichés of our lives
and Bond will live forever
even though he never existed.




We’re reaching the half-way point where we change drivers.
Chaz took the first leg, and Kristina takes the second because she can see better in the waning light and dark.
I’ll see in a few miles whether or not we stop at our Denny’s in Kettleman.
I’m (almost) always hungry, but I can (almost always) wait. If Kristina feels the pangs, we’ll stop.
I have my (thirty minutes before) dinner pills with me, just in case.




There was a big truck
carrying a giant propeller.
I can only imagine
what for.




And the always famous vapor trails
we see at this time of day,
planes hurrying home for dinner.



I’ll write a thought
add a word
subtract a phrase
add a line.
It’s called writing
and thinking
together again.




I admire other people’s driving.
I watch the way they handle the road.
I used to drive,
and loved it,
the easy grace of freedom,
roads that took you where
you wanted to go,
sometimes by discovery.
But now,
no more,
cold turkey.
Once was enough
to fall asleep at the wheel,
but twice?!?!?!
The spirit is willing
but the flesh is weak
and the spirit says No.
Now I fill my indentation
In the back seat
and the two drivers in front
Keep each other awake.
The road of life
is getting longer.




Hold your breath!
We’re going past the cows!




Wagyu.
Massage the living beef.
That mixes the fat and the meat,
makes every bite juicy tender
and gives the cow or bull
a happy ending
but multiplies
the consumer cost.
When I was young
my Father discovered
chuck steak
the cheapest cut,
fried it up,
and we ate like Kings.
I keep trying
to re-live my youth
and I’ve out-lived my Father
but not the memories.
My Father fed me steak!




Off at Kettleman.
They say, “The proof is in the pudding.”
No pudding this time.
No Denny’s.
We stopped
just to change drivers
in the parking lot
at Carl’s Jr.
across the street,
with no need for a bathroom break,
we can hold it
‘til Altadena
where we’ll have local dinner
maybe The Hat
on Lake Ave.
just up from the freeway,
or maybe at El Patron
at the very top of Lake –
we remember each other.
Now Kristina is driving
the sky is turning pink
it’s twilight,
she turns on the car radio
and we hear the new old familiar
and I can listen or sleep
because in the growing dark
there’s less and less to see.




Just passed the truck again
we passed before
with the giant propeller.
It’s still a mystery.




The radio is bringing back
the Viet Nam War.
It’s like slavery.
We never got over it.




What do you mean,
diarrhea of the mouth?
It’s your fault.
You bought me a pen.




Now they’re talking about Jane Fonda.
Many names from then.
Jane Fonda’s still with us,
and Joan Baez
very much alive.
My past lives.




The vocabulary of the past survives.
Collective, collaboration, community, democracy.
The old New Day is new again.
I am awake, alive,
marching with Martin,
singing the songs!