I’m hot and sticky. I can’t
seem to focus my thoughts
except when I think about Drinking
While Driving by Raymond Carver.
I get a little excited, with my windows open
on the freeway at night, smoking, speeding
in my truck. Just now, I fumble with Real Gone
but slide it deftly into the cd slot.
Tom Waits begins to strangle
and spit, real loud. I lose track of time,
can’t remember where I’m going,
but cruise along, passing cars.
I want to read a book jacket that’s sitting next to me
on the passenger seat, but don’t want
to get distracted or crash my truck.
As it is, right now, I seem to be following
a song, so I accelerate, and Tom croaks,
“shake it shake it baby.” I can feel a moment
just about to shudder. Time stops.

09/16/2005

Posted on 09/17/2005
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