the end of the line
I should have turned around when
The river was suddenly behind me, when the
Artery lead me to talk radio and foreign trees, the lights
Of houses in the distance and political signs
Crouched between fence posts and formidable
Hillsides, my car
With a full tank of gas grumbling on as if
It must have a purpose or die.
I tell myself the road will cycle, it will
Follow eerie capillary instinct and
Return to the heart, because I’m so far
From home, and I can’t help but hear my mother
Insisting that femininity cannot be quantified
By a ratio of female parts;
If I drive long enough
The blood will cure itself.
And yet,
The roads don’t seem to connect no matter how loud I turn the radio and I wonder
If I’ll ever find my way back to work tomorrow, I haven’t
Brought my license and if they pull me over
I’ll have no excuse for what I’ve done.
No matter, there are still
Cars on the road, familiar double orbs, heavy bodies passing outside
And plush upholstery within, the cargo
Drifting miles in the blink of an eye
Without much more than a scratch to the surface
How I’d love
To know how such a fragile creature manages to persist
Against all odds, at such extreme velocity, and only a belly of fuel to feed it.
Still, there is love to push the journey,
There is always
Someone waiting at the other end,
A driveway that is one’s own,
Even if the garden has been purged.
And I will still be a woman, no matter how much of me they take, but
Beyond the treeline is a valley of sparse lights that I may never see again
And it is really
Astoundingly beautiful out here, the sky
Has a quality of blue I’ve not noticed before the homes
Are cozier for all the space between and the moon
Is a curved blade above me
Waiting for the final cut.
fin
more coffee
back to the brothel
Email: thelastcar@yahoo.com