Coast road.

We went driving down the coast road
and we ended up far from home.
We found a little, snug cove
and we parked up our car.

Just another dead or dying town
with a visible town-wide frown.
We snuggled up 'neath the sunscreen.
I don't need the stars: they're in my memory.

We packed blankets and a bag of food
and we slept in the wind.
The dust can't collect on you
if you're the dust's kin.

We went driving down the coast road
and we saw old naval yards.
Where once were colossal death boats
there are now just sailors' bars.

We drove on to the next town.
I looked for a sign to direct us out.
We're heading off just God knows where -
and I'm sure he forgets.
Maybe we'll find a fork in the road
and have our dinner there.

You can't cage free birds;
not even for a charge.
It's just not our season.
We'll live and die in cars.*

*I'd like to dedicate this poem to Bruce Springsteen.