Down a Dark Highway

It's a shot glass but

it's a full glass. third one

up to the rim. a basketball

game is playing on the screen.

fans are shouting.

unsure footsteps drag

the tipsy to the bathrooms. time-outs

draw parallels between dancing

cheerleaders and fleet-footed waitresses.

the dull rumble of enjoyment

doesn’t affect the glass. the tequila,

that the bartender recommended

after one look at my face,

never ripples. only reflects

the dim sheen of the bar counter.

I can only see myself

looking out. I know the world would burn

if I drank it in. like this still spirit…

the vapors carry me in their fog

to commune with ghostly thoughts of

what brought me here. they float me

back to my car

and seat me. under

the endless gray of an

overcast sky. the heaviness

muffles the highway into

a wan halo of

headlights, tail lights

gas stations, and

highway lamp posts.

and between the soft groaning of

the engine and the grumbling of

the tires stumbling on rugged roads

I hear

the sighing of fluorescent bulbs

and neon creaking against the

vague weight of the atmosphere

condensed into leaden clouds.

I’m cruisin'

down I-93 at eighty five. horizon

is the buffer between the great

darkness of the universe and

the keen wisps of humanity’s light.

all definition is lost there. Uncertainty

makes the destination a cliff

I hope I don’t drive us over.

I heard the click of the seatbelt

before pulling off but I’m worried

because they’re slur drunk, slumped over,

and wearing cigarette smoke. So

I keep checking the GPS.

I'm never sure we're going the right way.

or to the right place.

because how could I be? and

how many passengers

are willing to move even

a single mile forward

on faith? to have a path

to take. signs along the way. and

a destination promised

because the unknowable creeps in

from every direction. the fear

that how we live,

who we are, is

unworthy of this place.

the only place,

in an endless darkness,

where light truly was made

for the people who inhabit it.

...a heaven.

and to be miserable there

sounds like a hell

a slow poisoning

could get you out of…

The shouts of gratified patrons

tell my body that my hand

is holding the glass.

I don’t remember when.

I only know why. the backlight

from tv screens morphs content smiles

into perverse laughter. ghouls enjoying

their torment. demons serving

temptation. the flirty eyes of someone

looking for another to get lost with

find mine. and hold them.

until I raise the glass

to my lips...

“Cheers.”