(a parody of “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” by Robert Frost)
by Thomas Locicero
Whose car is this I think I know.
He cannot drive a stick-shift, though.
He will not see me steal it here
To go to where I need to go.
His tranny surely thinks it queer
The driver doesn’t grind each gear
And now knows how to use the clutch
And how to brake and how to steer.
The car seems to enjoy my touch
And I have not felt freedom much,
Incarcerated constantly
For GTA, my lifelong crutch.
The drive is lovely as can be,
But I have sirens calling me
And years to serve before I’m free,
And years to serve before I’m free.
Thomas Locicero’s poems have appeared on six continents in numerous literary magazines, including Roanoke Review, Boston Literary Magazine, Bindweed Magazine, Antarctica Journal, Poetry Pacific, The Ghazal Page, Birmingham Arts Journal, Hobart, and vox poetica. Originally from East Islip, NY, he resides in Broken Arrow, OK, USA.
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