Driving

The air seems crisp when I drive.
The clouds seem to have more defined edges.
As light glints off the road and off red and white tail-lights
it seems focused, like a narrow beam of concentration.
I feel the curves and their accompanying centripetal force
as I swerve around them, gliding
through a spaghetti bowl of bow-tie concrete.
And all above me, the entire time, is a sky so blue that it
demands to be seen, to be noticed, as if its screaming at me.
No words, car radio, Basket Case by Green Day.
I sing, I scream, I feel. I notice.