DRIVING DOWN MLK WAY

My station wagon shudders 
the dips and ridges 
of MLK Way,
oh terror-free life of mine,
vessel-bound, with headlights blown
and his last speech
tremolo despite the haze. 
We bastards of the West,
still scanning city tide pools
(magenta oils that mingle 
with the rain)
for some more pure 
reflection.