“Two of us wearing raincoats
Standing solo in the sun
You and me chasing paper
Getting nowhere on our way back home”– The Beatles
We stop when the road is so
cloaked by darkness
and our sight is so
clouded by sleep
that continuing on
might be fatal,
so we book a hotel
for dirt cheap.
We stumble
through the lobby,
leaving the peril
of crash behind
in a car with enough
miles till empty
to escape this town
come sunrise.
We dream wrapped
in rough sheets,
with our limbs
laced together all night
so that when I wake
before daybreak-
from you, I must
gently untwine.
I leave you to dream
some time longer
while I roam
the drab halls
to find
caffeine
to liven
my senses-
to jumpstart my
sputtering mind.
I sit,
I sip,
I write.
These hours in which
I exist,
while you remain
unconscious,
have a tendency
to stretch
far beyond
their metrics,
making hours
out of minutes
and minutes
out of seconds.
Finally, after a
perceived eternity,
you join me,
and together we eat
eggs lukewarmly
scrambled
and waffles drenched
in maple.
Mouths full,
we consult the map,
pinning detours
that tempt
just off the
beaten track.
Then, brimming
with carbs and
anticipation,
we load up the car
and set off again.
States away
from mundane dread,
we have nothing but highway
and blind hope
ahead.
pm poetry 