At the intersection of motion and thought,
a census of vehicles unfolds:
white,
grey,
black,
colourless passings.
These pre-cast metal shells
gliding through existence
without asking for witness.

Safety in sameness,
a collective nothingness:
don’t look at me,
don’t notice, nothing to remember
in this risk-free zone,
for I count them like sheep
jumping the guardrail
in my sleepy imagination with
fifty-three colourless decisions
sixteen black afterthoughts
two red rebellion flags.

But then, then, HALLELUJAH YELLOW:
the ancient Beetle
smashes the guardrail against conformity,
its vivid sun-soaked shell
a dandelion waving in a colourless sea.

Who pilots this rogue outlier?
What grand soul chose
to wear their joy of life
in this striking, moving skin?

I breathe deeply now,
my lungs filling with possibilities
beyond the grayscale flow,
as I see greens and blues and reds
over the horizon.

Perhaps tomorrow
I’ll drive a bold and scary purple.

 

11/4/2025