Three Drivers, One Song

It was a week ago
but relevant now
as it was then
and will be until
the nukes stop
the seasons.
A passing schoolbus honked
as I settled into a chair
on my friend's sunsoaked porch
and cracked an ex-cold beer.
My head jerked up
from my bottle in time
to catch the driver's raised thumb
as she rolled down the lane.
She'd be doing the same
as soon as she could.
I commenced vicarious living.

Then there was the hearse
cruise-controlling up the Thruway.
Its driver, almost fifty
but could pass for thirty-eight
lingered long enough
in the non-passing lane
for me to see the smoke
careening from his Marlboro.
Was it wrong
or unprofessional
in today's antiseptic society?
He caught me staring, shrugged
and I nodded in agreement.
The deceased wouldn't mind
one more in his name--
the one taped somberly
to the black Caddy's window.
An homage, considered
by honorable thieves
replete with caveats.
I pressed harder and passed
them. There was nothing more
to see but doomed floral arrangements
and I'd had enough of those.

There are fleeting cosmic moments
when one knows one's not alone
and another soul's in tune.
Sometimes they happen
with clothes on, too.
Most times the grain's involved.
It's a reminder:
You can only go halfway
into the woods;
any further and you're coming out.



Currently reading:
"The Hunger Games" by Suzanne Collins.