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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