Thank you to the five entrants for participating in this challenge with good, solid poems. Readers should vote for the two poems they like the most. Voting closes June 7th.
The theme of the challenge was the title Night Drive. Kindly select from #s 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5 in the poll to differentiate between the poems.
Night Drive #1
A flash of light tears up the night:
a car flies by,
spattering noise over the town.
Inside the car there is silence.
Not a really silent silence,
but a warm, cozy one.
Silence of the radio humming gently,
and the heavy breathing of sleeping kids
crammed into the back seat,
heaps of arms and legs,
mingling of hair and sweaty smells.
Inside the car there is darkness.
Darkness like a blanket
keeping us safe
on our way
home.
Night Drive #2
He drives, after horizons lift high enough to shroud the Sun,
wise enough to know it doesn't set,
it's just the Earth rising
a cool dismissal,
when bored with its charms.
He journeys
hot with excitement, and thoughts of his prey,
tempered cool with the top down.
They used to fly, in the olden days,
safer now to drive.
White fingers bleach grey
as they
strangle the steering wheel tighter
as he
closes in on the feed,
vessels emptying before the gorge.
Then sleeps again,
before the Earth sets.
Night Drive #3
I’ll leave at night, make half
the drive in darkness
when traffic is kind
and road rage slumbers.
I’ll rehearse the words
out loud to the air until
they’re rote.
Perforated pavement
will lull me toward lies like
it’ll be fine, easy.
Facing me she’ll finger
the salt shaker, hunched
against wildflowers — wallpaper
faded in age and evening light.
She’ll stare blankly past me:
“Okay, I’ll move.”
Night Drive #4
Meth and bad paper come in waves
these days, and never enough resources.
The trailers are just not big enough.
Yesterday is a clear star. Small crosses
huddle in the occasional headlights
out past Mile Marker 12 on the side
of the old County Line Road.
Ministers gather those who listen,
bars collect everyone else. There is
no zoning to keep back the ghosts, no
herbicide to finally get at thistle root.
The fields have emptied out. The turf
cracks, goes to mush. Every night
is a rainy drive through South Dakota.
Night Drive #5
Thrill a minute headlights ray out
in starburst explosions:
clouded corneas--can't see where I'm going,
didn't get my nap, I yell thanks to other drivers
that honk me back to my lane when I doze off.
The dog licks my face
climbs on the steering wheel
probably needs to go potty, so do I,
wonder if I could use the coffee can without stopping,
what's that guy's problem?
People are so rude these days.
Oh.
No sir, I have no idea why you stopped me.
Poll
