Day Twenty-Nine: ‘Quintessential Angel (for Nick)’

April 29, 2013

Certain hours of a life — tumultuous

by trade — fall darkly as shadow spots, rain

hugging a windshield, a drunk can whipped from

the driver’s side. I’ve raised the blade. I made

the change, but that was years behind: a pair

of glowing tail lights long since blown out. But you,

now living as a crinkled pocket buck,

will smooth soon. The sideviews suggest the worst

is five miles past, where the crooked mailbox hangs.

So break your bag-wrapped bottle like wedding glass

and clink a cheers to brand-new black Hondas,

fresh snow tires, six-disc changers and endless road.

We’ve both been bred to spin our wheels. Collect

the deposit change and gas it. Tonight we ride.


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