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"I have to get to Key West!"
Said Brian through the car window
To no one but the expanse of sea
Outside.

Though everyone in the car heard him.
"We're moving in the opposite direction,"
Said Jane, her eyes lowered to the wheel,
That sad, peeling, 70's green steering wheel
Too wide for modern cars, modern thought.

"It's okay, that's quite alright. Fine, really!"
Brian stammered, his ear pressed red
Against the seat belt.
"The stars will guide us regardless.
They know where I am meant to be."

The Midwestern gypsy picked-up that morning
(Her name tag read, "Panda," and underneath that, "Go!")
Finally opened her eyes and looked at Troubled Brian
Slouched beside her in the backseat.

"What's in Key West?" Panda asked, her eyes
Like slits of glowing oxygen.
"I don't know, Panda," Brian shifted for her,
His blazing focus prostrate and trembling now,
Just beyond her spherical scent of flowers,
"But I have one of those shaky, glass balls at home

With a lighthouse and a shack and a tree
Trapped inside all waiting to be glittered all up
With a good shake..." Brian had a fever,
(and Panda was now loving him underneath his madness)
"...and below the watery, glass ball is a fake, moss-covered, 
Stone trunk with an engraving that says, 'Key West.'"

Brian exhaled like a hot air balloon as
Panda kissed him on the nose as they made the U-turn.

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