When driving a car and a good song comes on,
one where I cannot use the car as a dance partner,
I pullover, abandon the car and dance.
What little weird habit do you have? Come on you can tell me!
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Vicki, a reader of Tongue in Cheek, sent me an email regarding singing in the car.
A poem by Dorianne Laux, an Oregon poet.
Singing Back The World
"I don't know how it began.
The singing.
Judy at the wheel,
in the middle of Sentimental Journey.
The side of her face glowing.
Her lips moving. Beyond her shoulder
the little house sliding by.
And Geri. Her frizzy hair
in the wind wing's breeze, fumbling
with the words. All of us singing
as loud as we can. Off key.
Not even a semblance of harmony.
Driving home in a blue Comet singing
I'll Be Seeing You and Love Is A Rose.
The love songs of war. The war songs
of love. Mixing up the verses, eras, words.
Songs from stupid musicals.
Coming in strong on the easy refrains.
Straining our middle-aged voices
trying to reach impossible notes,
reconstruct forgotten phrases.
Cole Porter's Anything Goes.
Shamelessly la la la-ing
whole sections. Forgetting
the rent, the kids, the men,
the other woman. The sad goodbye.
The whole of children. Forgetting
the lost dog. Polio. The great planes
pregnant with bombs. Fields
of white headstones. All of it gone
as we struggle to remember
the words. One of us picking up
where others leave off. Intent
on the song. Forgetting our bodies,
their pitiful limbs, their heaviness.
Nothing but three throats
beating back the world. Laurie's
radiation treatments. The scars
on Christina's arms. Kim's brother.
Molly's grandfather. Jane's sister.
Singing to the telephone poles
skimming by. Stoplights
blooming green. The road
a glassy black river edged
with brilliant gilded weeds. The car
an immense boat cutting the air
into blue angelic plumes. Singing
Blue Moon and Paper Moon
and Mack the Knife, and Nobody
Knows The Trouble I've Seen."
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