A Drive Behind the Light
A dark road creaks, a crackling of ice-skulls
under bruising rubber.
Driving to the all-nite store --- need antacids.
It's pre-dawn, an hour behind the light,
those black hollows of the night
where time goes blind.
No one rides this deadened road,
no car beams, or open-eyes gleam
until the car drifts into the low hum
of a forecourt.
The neon Mini Mart has sunk
inside an insane façade of purpose,
lost as it is, in an electric trance.
Nobody dwells here at this hour
only the heavy-eyed-blue-heron man.
After the purchase, he disappears
into a cubbyhole of shadows.
Back home, the grinding jaw
of a garage door
seems to awaken a lick of daylight,
not here, but
in the back of my mind.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2019
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