October 2008 / Volume 8 / Issue Three
Linda Wandt
Truck

It’s after 3am and I admit
I left the bar tonight a little bit drunk, and quite a lot disappointed
my head light and confused,
and I just kept driving south
outside of the city limits, the oppression of the noise and the crowds and
bullshit and the people and their expectations, or lack thereof,
and my own expectations as well, or lack thereof.

I got in my car to drive home and just couldn’t take that turn,
had to keep moving at 60, then 70, then 80 mph,
I had to burn the road with my sudden escape
nothing could keep me here, no weight nor anchor nor
obligation could tie me down

Both windows open, the cool night breeze
tumbled into rushing air
trying to wash myself clean with the invisible force of inertia and speed
the lights of the town left behind in the dark with the soft neon green glow of
the dashboard as my guide,
the stars increasingly visible, like holes in the night sky, as if the darkness
were merely a cover, and nothing but light was above

The further out I went, the more I could breathe
the more I could think
a careening clearness suddenly a jolt– 
none of the pain and frustration really matters– 
because I’m able to get in my truck,
whenever the fuck I want to,
and just drive.
RETURN to OCTOBER 2008