brother

the wheel in your hand
across this fertile land
so many songs you've sung
so many hours ground down
lenses scoping out the action
the reactions, surprised
parties averted gazes and
the twelve steps to nowhere.
vice grip pliers held that
wheel in place, a two-tone
bus with us half grown
steering our way, off to
the highway, the long, long
winding road home, the stolen flag
a bartender's gift, like a
splash in the plaza fountain
without all that fame to
distract us, to grab the wheel
coming loose in our hands.