Leaving Mount Vernon

by Marie Gray Wise

We leave Mount Vernon in the rain
following a young man on a motorcycle
his tan shirt billowing
full of force and friction.

Willie sings softly
about Georgia and cowboys.
It’s 2:22, my lucky minute.
I feed my husband, the driver,
coffee sips and peanut butter crackers,
tang and a bit of grease.

All jive with this modern life we lead
far from the bucolic security
of our first leader’s stately farm.
Against his mansion
our own safety seems filmy, tremulous.

But it rides secure within this car
bouncing and dancing
on the web between me
and the man across the seat
as we drive into the force and friction
on the road to Richmond.