Drive Home


Driving in the middle of the road
seems to save me from slipping off the edges,
but I am left vulnerable to a head-on collision.

Fog settles on the pavement and
locks away the natural surroundings.
I am left to guess the bumps and turns
that this roadway has to offer.

I can feel the heat from my engine
and see the moisture on my brow.
I can see the moisture of the sky
and feel its heat escaping from
the roadway.

I am rather lost and afraid
of a tangled messy wreck.
I hug the yellow line like
I am being accompanied to Oz.
I tingle under the possibilities of
an erratic fork in the road,
dangerous and unseen.

Buried under miles of fog,
no one would find my vehicle
until late the next day.
I turn on my fog lights,
but the condensed air just laughs.

I grip m seatbelt and tighten it
as much as possible.
It feels like a noose,
which comforted me,
picking my own death.

My tank is almost empty
and I am almost home.
Fear was the ultimate fuel.
My driveway never seemed so long,
but at least I made it home.

Slipping off the edge of the road
would be like falling off the
face of this earth.


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