Jack Hitches One Last Ride
(21 October 1969)
Yellow toothed. You lie. Spine straight on the asphalt bed. Sleepless. Knowing that any toss or turn may land a limb beneath a hurtling bus. Reading destiny on scrambled metal plates. Waiting. Spot lit. Interrogated. Until four eyes recast into an infinity mirror. But no stop. Just a door thrust open. A vise grip on a steel semicolon. A deistic fit of gymnastics. And you in the passenger seat. Grinning like a madman.