The variegated green of treetops cascade by

Threaded with telephone and power cables

Filling the window open to the summer wind

This August day of my eighth summer

The sun has warmed the cloth bench seat

Of the old sedan that drums at thrumming gales 

Through cooling ventilators and windows

along an endless empty unseen highway

Laying crosswise snuggled against a Dad

Whose English Leather is Wakefield tobacco

His protective arm holds me close 

While he hums a dance band tune this

Safe and glorious day alone my Dad and I