Efi Hatzimanolis #106 Roundabout

When I’m old, 
I’d like somebody to drive me 
around abouts in the open back of an ute
slowly, so I can make eye contact with pedestrians,
and maybe scare some old duck like me,
waiting for her lights to change.
I promise not to bark. I won’t need restraint.
I’m too old for the whoosh of old,
but truth be told, I still wish
to look menacing with my snout
stuck in the thick semiotic soup
of the city streets, the underground parking,
the tunnels, the freeways through forests
and the great high of weather gathering
as much stink as I can store in my fur,
to draw on, for the roundabouts,
when I’m old, and driven