Driving At

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: February 12, 2019

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Submitted: February 12, 2019

A A A

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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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