Tule Fog

[OrlandoGardener]

We five
are riding in an eighty-seven
Toyota.

This squat car
will carry us up out of the lowland fields
south-west of Bakersfield,
up,
High Up to the bluffs and Bakersfield College.
But the tulle fog has set in,
just higher than our
Corolla
and thicker than chili
at a Baptist pot-luck.
We creep along
fearing and uncertain of our direction,
our position,
everything but our destination.
I volunteer
to ride on the top,
head above the low-lying fog,
shouting to the driver
what I see on the road.
With me as look-out
we might double our speed
to seven miles per hour.

On top
I have time for only one clear glimpse
of tattooed knuckles,
and a large beard.
From way up there
behind the wheel of a semi
the trucker
would have a clear view of anything,
were his bloodshot eyes able to focus:
the fields, the sky,
he could see through the fog to us,
to the road.
He could see that we are on the wrong side
and swerve.

But he does not.

[jkvanburen]

Hi!

I am a big fan of the Corolla, so you had me from the start. Love the beginning, and wanted it to be one of those groovy bonding road trip poems, but it wasn't ah tragedy.

Does not say anything about the poem, just of my predictions.

I could see the truck driver there. Good description. I have to read this one again for more specific comments.

nice to read you,

Jennifer

[Bombadil]

he lives and breathes.

I've never known quite how to spell the Tule part of fog.

Good explanations. Could do with a bit of shrinkage though, methinks.

Cheers,

K

[dillingworth]

love it. the only weak bit for me is the part about not seeing where you're going, knowing only the destination: it's a great metaphor for life (if you meant it that way), but it's a bit too explicit and as such it seems a little cliched.

great work though.

[OrlandoGardener]

I've never known quite how to spell the Tule part of fog.

Honestly, I'm not sure either. Word liked it OK, and if it's good enough for Mr. Gates, it's good enough for me. Tulle? Tuly? Toolee? 2Le?

Could do with a bit of shrinkage though, methinks.

Agreed. Any suggestions as to where?

the only weak bit for me is the part about not seeing where you're going, knowing only the destination: it's a great metaphor for life (if you meant it that way), but it's a bit too explicit and as such it seems a little cliched.

Err...I actually mean it as a metaphore for life and I mean it to be a cliche. It's supposed to be ironic, because of Bakerfield College being such a lowly isntitution academicaly. Now that I think about it, I can't see any reason why someone in the UK would catch all of that, though. Hmm.

Thanks for the input, you three.

[Bombadil]

location specific poetry...you've got to love it. Nobody here but the two of us likely even knows how thick Tule (Toolee, Tully, Tulle--never 2le) fog actually can be--and how lethal.

I have an urge to call you a dork, but I don't know why.

What are you two doing tonight?

[Bombadil]

oh and...though you know my gift ain't editing... it's the middle that needs it...

This squat car
will carry us up out of the lowlands
south-west of Bakersfield,
up,
High Up to the bluffs and Bakersfield College. (you could lose this entire line).
But the tulle fog has set in,
just higher than our
Corolla
and thicker than chili
at a Baptist pot-luck.
We creep along (ditch along)
fearing and uncertain of our direction, (fearful)
our position, (ditch it)
everything but our destination.
I volunteer
to ride on the top, (great image by the way)
head above the low-lying fog,
shouting to the driver (shouting down directions...no driver, maybe)
what I see on the road. (then this line can go)
With me as look-out
we might double our speed
to seven miles per hour.