And Sherman Burned It

1.

Riding away from Atlanta

a lone traveler

in the wide amber dusk



speeding among 8 teeming



lanes

grinding upon the purple asphalt



weirdly sensing

some refractive otherness



creeping

cigarette burns



ember fringe



yellowing my fingertips



whirling ash

peppering



the dark confines of my Nova



driving away



stubble chin



worn out

cotton shirt



red tail light phalanx

drifting ahead



red



gas tank needle

creeping toward "E"



when I notice this

is when I come

to my senses



Where am I going?

Why am I going?



quick panic at the thought of how much money do I have

knowing it's not too much

but in the end it's enough

when I pull into the Exxon

now self-conciously operating the pump

now making my way to the counter

now paying

now riding



back out

into the night