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.
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