Night Drive
Splashes of neon, sinful almost,
The red?
Precisely. In the rain,
The floor is lava.
Not so scary. Just spilled wine on a shag carpet,
And the green is Chartreuse? Sourpuss apple?
Something else entirely. Emerald,
Yes, jade, I can see it.
It paints you through the window,
You too. Which makes the yellow -
Too fleeting to notice.
So life then. A good metaphor,
Faster. I can feel it coming.
Yesterday I was waking up in a bunk bed
Under that kid from Toronto,
With the nasal thing, smart though,
I remember, I met him that time,
That first time.
Yes.
A beat.
Stop here. I hear sirens
Would you call for me?
From the rooftops if you wish
I only meant an ambulance
Yes, and I meant to the world.
I wish you would have,
I will, watch me,
Roll up the window. I’m talking about the ambulance.
I’ll drive faster.
Have we been here before?
You must be thinking of your other husband,
He’s like you but taller. We’re going in circles.
No we aren’t.
It hurts,
I know. We’re getting close.
Darling,
Yes?
Squeeze my hand.
But it’s a manual.
You’ll make a good father.
About the Creator
Miguel da Ponte
Bartender by night, disc golfer by day. Lover of breakfast foods and the same music my dad probably listened to. I live on a boat and I like to write sometimes.
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Comments (2)
Great free versing.
The use of colors and their associations creates a lively and engaging experience for the reader. Waking up in a bunk bed and meeting someone from Toronto adds a touch of nostalgia and curiosity, thank you very much for sharing, love your works, hope to read more, subscribed.