think

I’m hot and sticky. I can’t
seem to focus my thoughts
except when I think about Drinking
While Driving by Raymond Carver.
I get a little excited, with my windows open
on the freeway at night, smoking, speeding
in my truck. Just now, I fumble with Real Gone
and manage to get it into the cd slot.
Tom Waits begins to strangle
and spit, real loud. I lose track of time,
I can’t remember where I’m going,
but cruise along, passing cars.
I want to read a book jacket that’s sitting next to me
on the passenger seat, but I don’t want
to get distracted or crash my truck.
As it is, right now, I seem to be following
a song, so I accelerate, and Tom croaks,
“shake it shake it baby.” I can feel a moment
just about to shudder. Time stops