I push my
machine through
a hole in the highway.
I like things to be simple:
driving fast through the night,
eating reliable food alone in my car,
accelerating around this dark curve,
windows down, snowing cold, heat pumping.
The wheels slip.
I spin off the road
and get wrapped in snow.
A man pulls me out
with a strength contrary
to his look.
He wraps me in dryness
and drives me south
to live in a blue-tiled island house
full of lizards and plants and
the native children we adopt.
You can only get to our island by swimming.
While he's off fighting wars,
I make a home he loves
full of heat,
book shelves,
very spicy food,
vari-colored kids with American names,
and portraits of all the people he admires,
Everything is all set for his swim home.. .
I see this crash, this fate unfolding
as I accelerate behind the white car
in haste
towards some less important destination.