Short Fiction
Contemplative Poetry
1 min
Driving
Craig Cotter
Driving
I was driving
he sat in the passenger seat
I could feel his leg and smell him.
I liked a boy who was silent most of the time.
My Honda lost in a parking lot
we were driving
my remote out the window
trying to make it beep.
I was OK being lost
as it was more time with Alex.
I knew when we found my car
he'd be gone
and I'd be awake.
So we walked and drove around places
we hadn't been,
at one stage a parking lot
full of people
lighting fireworks.
Walked through stores and towns
that never existed.
*
At 19
I drove fast—
except driving Rose home on Sunday nights
speed limit 65
I'd drive 48 or 52
holding her hand
back to Geneva.
*
With Alex this morning
27 years after our fifth summer
in Western New York
a dream with your smell, presence, silence.
I was driving
he sat in the passenger seat
I could feel his leg and smell him.
I liked a boy who was silent most of the time.
My Honda lost in a parking lot
we were driving
my remote out the window
trying to make it beep.
I was OK being lost
as it was more time with Alex.
I knew when we found my car
he'd be gone
and I'd be awake.
So we walked and drove around places
we hadn't been,
at one stage a parking lot
full of people
lighting fireworks.
Walked through stores and towns
that never existed.
*
At 19
I drove fast—
except driving Rose home on Sunday nights
speed limit 65
I'd drive 48 or 52
holding her hand
back to Geneva.
*
With Alex this morning
27 years after our fifth summer
in Western New York
a dream with your smell, presence, silence.
Driving was accepted as part of the MSUL Short Edition call for the theme of The American Road, in coordination with the MSU Broad Art Museum's exhibit Interstates of Mind.
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