RICARDO MONTALBAN WAS A FRIEND OF MINE
Cracked green vinyl ,
not the rich Corinthian kind
of Ricardos time.
The smell of black coffee
and cheap perfume hangs heavy in this cabs air.
I move through this city encased in
yellow steel and clutching a steering wheel .
Brick and glass all whirl past in a concrete blur.
The telephone wires crackling overhead;
a thousand voices race through my head.
I travel at the speed of light one gallon at a time.
I steer by the nights neon glow.
Come the mornings light I shut the door,
turn the key, and let the rich Corinthian leather
wash over me and forget how quiet
the moonlight can be .