Michael Caan’s tribute to incorrigible driving is our 22nd installment. Built on repetitions with a difference, “Sestina on Doing One Hundred and Forty on the 405” puts pedal to metal, dramatizing the risks that accrue value with time.   

***

Sestina On Doing One Hundred And Forty On The 405.

The speedo pegged at 130 and man that felt fine.
I was twenty-one, an age when a guy’s just got to speed.
Forty-five years later I’m on the 405 again, same wide cut
through the Valley where I’d gone so fast.
The Sierra foothills frame the shimmering asphalt.
The traffic, for a change, is light.  Baby, it’s time.

Forty-five years at the wheel’s a long time –
lots of detours, some went well, a few not so fine.
Once, in a doc’s office, my future looked bleak as cracked asphalt.
It’s the wrecker yard, he said, you’re done with speed.
Surgery days after the diagnosis, that doc moved fast.
A crooked back road of stitches where he cut.

But man, that doc was wrong!  A scar’s all that’s left from that cut.
Forget running on fumes, damn gauge was off and it wasn’t my time.
Hooked up jumper cables: yoga, dance, a shrink, and got restarted fast.
Shifted back into high gear, but not all was fine:
divorce lawyers charge hourly and you can’t get those guys to speed.
House gone, wife gone, nothing left but to hit the asphalt.

Forty five years later I’ve seen a lot of asphalt,
logged pit stops and met a women for whom I made the cut.
Got calmer, too – less urge for speed.
Learning to take my time.
Learning not finishing first is fine.
Learning to take it slow not fast.

I’m back on the 405, back where I drove so fast,
maxed out, wind buffeting the asphalt,
twenty-one then, single, in a hot car and feeling fine.
It’s Sunday morning and the 405’s an empty cut.
I shift down and floor it like the last time.
Under the hood 400 horsepower rev up and speed.

I do 140 easy, well past my old top speed.
Wish I’d seen the CHP going the other way fast,
but baby I was having too good a time.
Didn’t take him long to hang a U-turn on the divider asphalt.
That some shit trucker turned me in was the worst cut.
Still, got off pretty light: six months probation and a $500 fine.

Do I regret at my age nailing the 405’s asphalt?
Hell no, man!  If my fast run hadn’t been cut
my top speed would’ve been even more fine.

***

While in his twenties, Michael Caan was required to appear before the California DMV where he was asked if he knew the meaning of the word “incorrigible.” He has a PhD in physics from UCLA and did research at NASA before founding an international medical rehab company.  He is a licensed massage therapist, hospice volunteer, visits hospitals with his therapy dog and dances Argentine tango.  He has been published in the Porter Gulch Review and the Wine Spectator.