Bookstore Poem #604

Responding to something I saw online. Not sure why I thought of a driving metaphor…

I can’t tell you to adjust your turn
when I don’t know where my own hands are on the wheel

Some curves are tougher to navigate
when fog and dusk descend together
rendering headlights useless

The notion of a glass-smooth road
with fresh white lines and no stop lights
is as foreign to me as anything
but as long as the car is moving
I have to go where it goes

I hope I have the wherewithal
to hit the brakes before the bridge runs out

(17 May 2019)


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