Driving At
no road
where he stands
this side of
passing dotted line
to solid
no passing
revving for
all that became naught
but one little girl
waysided
yielding twice
the nuclear input
oft off-putting away
all those travel size
games, maps, coffee-ringed
stopping to lookout
seeing USA in a Chevrolet
leaded gas, leaden minds
kids not so smart
as once, yes once
railroad crossed
penny railed against
the darkness much
too warm to be afraid of
then again, yes, then again
crossing center line
into a future that rides little
boys like sutures far too dull
to be interesting dad says
I’ll turn, yes, turn this thing around
in the middle
of an interstate love song singing
to the la la la-ing
of not-so-distant action
at a distance
in the middle
of a sentence not unlike
where you’d said you’d been
too many times before
been that. Done there,
in the middle
where streetlamps orange
no longer worry for lack of reach
there are no dark dreams
anymore, GPS has mapped
every corpuscle.
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