drinks in the road flowing before him.
His passengers are inert, each wrapped
in the other. Each a pothole away
from a bladder-burst of embarrassment.
DD does not deviate from the straight
or narrow, the sparkling markers,
the sexually suggestive parallel lines.
He avoids thumping over the inevitable
roadkill that populates rural roads at night,
adding its essence and flavor to the night air
and stars. DD prefers comatose patrons.
Ones who trust he knows without asking
where they are going on rain slick nights,
or, tonight, a snow-flurried evening.
Tonight, the snow reminds him of a salt-frothed
margarita made specially in his favorite
restaurant, Oyamel. Spanish for butterfly.
Many miles in the rearview mirror. His car
carves its path into the future, a safe cocoon
of steel, plastic, faux-chrome, and manufactured
promises. Enough comfort for all,
except the body bagged in the trunk
hopelessly beyond all dreams.
Richard Weaver lives in Baltimore where he volunteers with the Maryland Book Bank, acts as the Archivist-at-Large for a Jesuit college, and is the now the official poet-in-residence at the James Joyce Pub and Restaurant. He is the author of The Stars Undone (Duende Press). Recent poems have appeared in River Poet’s Journal, Southern Review, Little Patuxent Review, Loch Raven Review, Adelaide, Slush Pile, and Elsewhere. (Yes, there is a magazine named Elsewhere).
Originally published in the FALL 2018 edition of The Helix.