Southern Expressway
I drive under Sugar Bush road
Blasting songs of the unrequited
And passing by the Honey Pot
I flick through Spotify until
Doe Paoro sounds about right –
her pulse of rhythmic bass/
love lyrics tethering me to
this place that sounds
of waves and smells
of salt and dust
and tastes of long nights
and good mates
and feels hot like the
sun that strokes my face
through the window of this hire car.
