View From a Car at Night, 1962

Driving solo 
through the dark at night,
’49 Dodge, 
green and battered and slow,
black in front
black behind,
black all around,
nowhere to go,
but I’m on the move,
not driving away or driving to,
it’s chilly but the heater’s on
and I’m warm here in my womb,
but the farther I push 
the pedal down,
the more static on the radio,
so I lift my foot up
to catch the doo-wop and Motown,
and it’s still crackle and pop,
that’s OK, because the Beatles
haven’t landed and taken 
our music out of the dark,
you say you liked Stones’
music better,
think I might have too,
but they were so angry,
and the Beatles so happy
until the Maharishi and chemicals
introduced them to bliss,
and I drive by her house again,
number of times I’ve lost count,
and wonder whose car
is parked in the dark back behind,
too late for a date
but looks like the kid in my class
I fought in sixth grade,
lucky punch put him on his ass
before we decided 
we had better things to do
and we let it pass,
now he’s at her house,
they are there,
her parents are gone,
and I’m here in my car alone,
but I’ve got dreams and music
to see me through ‘til dawn,
and I know if I drive enough
I’ll open my eyes
and might see how to move on.

Bluejay

Veteran of old My Poetry Forum before its hiatus. Happy to be back.

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