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STALLED OUT ON HIGHWAY 30, HUNTSVILLE, TEXAS

David Cowen



the whiteness of my thumb
glows like an afterthought in the dim light.
the silver road flows through a bank of black trees.
I look for my salvatin in a single headlight--
it is only a shadow passing indifferently.

I lay on the cold windshield
like a reflection of the moon
as the dark begins to awaken.

the sound of a struggle,
death or mating,
bursts out of the branches
and grows flacid like a falling sigh;
flashes of yellow-eyed curiosity
come and go
like stragglers at the zoo.

the chilling air
forces me into the glass and steel
confinement of my dead car.
I lock the doors and make a bed
of old clothes still waiting to be cleaned;
lying low on the leather ribbed seat,
to avoid the gawking of strangers,
as I dream of the rising sun.



Scars Publications


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