(Our assignment for an Artists Way workshop several years ago was to write a lullaby. I gave myself the drive from Woodstock to the class in Hudson to compose one in my head and chose the scenic roads rather than the Thruway. A bucolic lullaby was coalescing in my thoughts, but as I pulled up to the Rip Van Winkle Bridge and lowered by window to pay my dollar, this came to me instead.)
Lullaby
Little
little rattle
under my car
how I wonder
how you are
your rapid tapping
your exhausted cough
your final bleating
before I turn the engine off.
Little
little rattle
under my car
I wish you well
for what you are.
In the morning
I’ll be here again
to drive you
near and far.