Isn't it funny? Whenever—
the sun
begins—in your mind
to shimmy
and shed its daffy salutation
down
solely—over the highway
on which your now-
glinting gold
car continues to glide—how
the music
you're hearing sounds
like it's all—effortlessly
right
on your side—and how, somehow
that fine
sporty
mind of yours just
doesn't think
to abide—any frustration!
whatso-
ever—in seeing
such incredible
piles of self-
similar cars—so long, that is
as they're
not
all lined-
up
on the
same shiny—side of the median!
