The open freeway is a kind of sea
At sixty-five, maybe seventy, miles an hour
black sails roiling against asphalt waves
that rocked our white pick up ship past
and finally city trees.
We sang pirate shanties
from the back seat, but no pirates, we.
* * *
Today’s prompt was hard, “Write a sea shanty.” I know a couple of them, and it was too hard to get away from those other people’s words. So, I gave the prompt a bit of a twist and wrote about learning the sea shanties that I know, on the road. To be entirely repetitive, I found this piece hard, but these are curiously happy memories, though I always hated that drive as a teen. I wanted the title to sound like we sang it when it’s read; I don’t know if this worked, you can tell me in the comments. Looking forward to a new prompt tomorrow. Have a great night, y’all! ~LD