Get Away

The engine is off but I can't get out,
or, won't. If I open the door I'll have to live
in the world I just created.
This car, my temporary universe.

The keys, swaying in the ignition,
back and forth, back and forth,
back and—Make up your mind!
Be still. Like the headlights,
loyally illuminating the bushes ahead.
Such conviction. Oh, the certainty!

This song doesn't remind me
of what it used to. Or maybe it does.
Maybe I need to get out of this
cage on wheels. Maybe I need to run,
this car won't do. I need real speed.
I need to feel my tendons and ligaments
heat up and rip apart. Muscles smothered
in lactic acid. I need to shatter
these mirrors and never look back.

I don't know what I need. But
it isn't that girl, whatever her name was.
So many nights spent hugging a pillow
turns a person to simple reminders—
engine warning lights and turn signals.