Wednesday, January 15, 2014

Cold Windshield



She said she likes to masturbate driving alone on the highway
One hand on the wheel the other between her legs 
Diddling herself nonchalantly through her jeans
I get bored she said
I asked can’t people see you
She shrugged and said not at night
During the day maybe truckers they’re so high up
One night while we were driving back from Philly 
She got so tired her eyelids began to droop
And the car started to drift 
So we pulled over along a dark wooded stretch 
So she could sleep a little
Cars whooshed by 
We sat there a few minutes 
I was startled by a rap on the passenger side window 
A man in a red uniform like a Mountie 
Motioned for me to roll down the window 
Which a month later would be replaced 
With a duct-taped sheet of plastic 
He asked if everything was alright 
I said she just needs to rest
You can’t stop here he said
I shook her awake 
The man strode off into the night 
Boots crunching on pebbles of shattered glass 
She started the ignition blasting the radio
To try to help her stay awake 
Shut off the heat leaned forward almost touching 
The cold windshield with her forehead
Staring out at the patch of road skimmed by the headlights
Tightly gripping the wheel with one hand
I reached for the other but she didnt offer it
And I couldnt see where it hid
A busy creature shivering in the dark 
As if I wasn’t there beside her 
Clouding the windows with my 
Hot breath

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