What Drives You Home At 2am
You admit that it is the way
An oncoming train becomes a slow moving
Upside down glowing socket.
A snake whose loud mouth is open wide
And full of light
You admit that it is every stray cat
Huddled beneath parked cars
Hugged together, a tight ball of yarn
Eyes caught by your headlights,
Two illuminated silver coins
Marking the way back home.
At times my eyes are
Shooting blanks into the horizon,
Trying to puncture the clouds.
Trying to escape the smog and nicotine,
And the yellow sheets of paper that burgers are wrapped in
That float around in the gutter,
In parking lots and
Sway across the beach sand.
You never liked night driving.
And now, on the road
You find yourself a strange,
Lonely vehicle that careens
Up an empty street
Drenched in the pitch black nightgown
Of the devil herself.
It makes you remember the folksy darkness
How a single pair of headlights
Isolate every passing tree
Like tall nude broads
Exposed and awkwardly branching,
Momentarily bathed in silk light.
And then shrouded safe by
An ink curtain draping over them
As you, with feigned indifference
Leave them untouched, distant figures
To be groped by other lights.