Cigarettes and Car Rides

The music isn't as harsh as it should be

And the grating flavor of the Marlboro Reds are sweet

Besides the fizz of Cherry Monster,

Gentle on my lungs in a way my words aren't.

It is quiet.

.

The night is black as black can get,

Pricked with little points of blurry white

That should be sharp but I left my glasses at home

Beside my reasonable sensibilities and will to live.

No one is yelling.

.

There are clouds on the horizon

And my shadow resting silently beside me,

Watching as diligently as I am at the flashes on the west.

The silo winks in the moonlight.

The storm is coming.

.

Another drag. Another plume of smoke puffing on my lips.

Another sip of stained red Monster.

The storm is coming but it isn't here yet and maybe

I can outrun it this time, chase it and flee.

The engine roars to life.

.

And suddenly the world is flying by at 100 miles an hour.

I'm tearing straight through a headwind that makes me want

To hold the wheel with my feet and soar out of the sunroof.

But I don't have wings and I can't fly.

So I press my foot down and race death.

.

It's corn, corn, coyotes, and more corn but under the moonlight

And the periodic flashes of approaching lightning

The tall green stalks emit a vibrant, cosmic life

That feeds the fever burning in my blood.

I can hear thunder.

.

Is it coming from the clouds or the engine?

Am I rattling loose the craziness inside me or is my chassis

Threatening to fold, threatening to make origami out of my bones?

Does it matter either way?

I am winning.

.

I have dipped into the clouds, spun around, and started racing back

With shadows on my back tires and raindrops falling

Like saliva from the jaws of a hungry wolf.

My lips are split in a grin, my heart hammering erratically in my chest.

It's coming.

.

I've become a monster jammed in red metal and glass

Galloping across the countryside with screaming sounds

Escaping a busted stereo and smoke

Curling out of the windows like a warning sign.

Unstoppable.

.

Because there is no fear in my chest, not even as the sky growls

And the tires chirp and squeak and slip.

There is nothing inside me but caffeine and b-vitamins and smoke,

The kinds of things that block the light of sanity like an eclipse.

I am starving.

.

And this ride, this deathly thrill is a wonderful meal.

The cigarette is warm between my lips like a feast,

Dripping fat embers against my throat that scar in a way

I look fondly on decades into the future.

A mark of the dreaming monster.

.

I've beaten the storm. The garage door groans shut.

And the cigarette box is stored away, the smell blasted by nighttime air.

All that's left of the night is the shadow at my feet, the burn on my neck,

And the red Monster tab dropped between the seats.

The rain falls.

_____________________________________

Thanks for reading! This is part of a collection of poems I'm working on/a series called "Cigarettes And..." You can read the other two I've published below!