There was me, and the tobacco smoke,
fresh from the end of a burning midnight cigarette,
curling stifling in the air.
No baby in the backseat, just some clothes,
a sketchbook, a garbage bag,
some books, a blanket, and you.
You, with your midnight eyes, deep dark mirrors of the interstate guidelights,
black like asphalt, like the sky, like the road;
reflecting the embers of your weapon
of choice,
a Marlboro that smelled like road dust and burning tires.
Put that thing out, I said,
it's poison.
You turned your head. I saw your eyes in
the rearview, all pupil, all dark.
Mile 182. And you said,
So's life.
fresh from the end of a burning midnight cigarette,
curling stifling in the air.
No baby in the backseat, just some clothes,
a sketchbook, a garbage bag,
some books, a blanket, and you.
You, with your midnight eyes, deep dark mirrors of the interstate guidelights,
black like asphalt, like the sky, like the road;
reflecting the embers of your weapon
of choice,
a Marlboro that smelled like road dust and burning tires.
Put that thing out, I said,
it's poison.
You turned your head. I saw your eyes in
the rearview, all pupil, all dark.
Mile 182. And you said,
So's life.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.
Cozzy
Theholethatiswhole
Join the Discussion
This article has 2 comments. Post your own!