The Drive
The dogfight days panted
In my face, in my rage
Pallid and weary from a hunger.
I can reckon the butterscotch fume
Lingering with a surreal tang
Of charred embitterment
And the malingering wails
Of alcohol staring daggers
Pummeling the desolation,
I can reckon the one way road
Where we used to flounder
Counting scars and cussing stars
And how I veered a trifle
And you turned a colossal pivot
Towards esoteric digression,
I can reckon with my head
Swaying in a garrote
Of my favored laces,
I can reckon the loss
And the fear of irrevocable damage
Let us press the streetlights gone
And wander slow and near,
And shot another bullet
To disappear in the long run
And stir past the vexation,
And stir past the apprehension
I will stand in front of the storms
Steadfast to the helm
With a dire need and desire
To drive the immovable communion.
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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