Quoth the Raven...

I read The Raven to my two-year old last night- interestingly enough, he asked me to read it to him. One of the high points of my day is always reading stories to my little boy. He asks questions, makes up additions to the stories and has a running commentary on whatever we're reading, so sometimes it takes a little while to get through the story, but that's all right. It's a lot of fun, and my son thinks it's just the bee's knees to have Dad read to him. And of course, I'm happy to oblige. In this case, we read through the poem, which ended with the both of us laughing like loons, and my son jumping on the bed, yelling "nevermore! nevermore!". Perhaps we imbued a little more comedy into it than Poe originally intended, but really, I think that's what writing is all about. Sharing ideas with someone else, and moving them and yourself. That's why I started writing- because I wanted other people to experience the things that I have experienced, and to enjoy them as much as I have. If I could communicate my own experiences to one other person, I would consider that worth all the effort. That, and I heard women go for the sensitive types. (Just kidding, guys and gals. My days of having women 'go for' anything are behind me now; I'm blessed with a wonderful little boy and a dear wife. We've got a good thing.)
I wrote this poem one day driving to work, and happened to notice a sign on the side of the road that identified this particular stretch of road as the Yankee Expressway. It's actually I-84 Westbound into Hartford, CT just after the bridge- there's a tunnel with the words "Welcome to Hartford" written on it. I got in a nasty spin-out there once, but that's another story. I was fine, with only a scuff on the bumper to show for it. On my junky old car, you hardly notice.

The Yankee Expressway

Sing, O Muse,

Of the Yankee Expressway,

Faithful friend, I have

sought your blacktop four lanes

Every morning's coffee-fueled commute

You express to me

Exhaust fumes, garish tunnel lights

while from within my

glass and steel box

Around me the city

Rising up, tall glass and concrete, monuments

To Man's ambition,

the American dream

Seeing the city hum around me

Parking garages, power plants

Men and women, the

force that drives the machine-

Would they miss me if I

kept on driving

to the coast,

jumped ship to

a strange new land-

Would it make a

nick on the rolling stream

of progress, of the

rat race?

On I go, another

day, another salary

Chasing the same carrot,

the same dream