Summer 2020

At this time of night,

My car smells like garlic knots and

Thick air, so I crack the window,

Leave my hand out the side,

Making shapes with my fist and

Cupping the air in my hands like

It’s something holy.

Headlights invade my pocket

Of stillness, break up the geometry

Of the four way stop.

My hand is on the horn like a last breath,

Long and uninterrupted.

The one way’s not going anywhere,

And neither am I,

The emergency brake held tight

As my stuffed hippo from elementary school.

That’s right,

I was small once before.

The median of immovable force

Greets the front bumper and I am

Still whole, somehow.

There will never be enough sunlight.