Roadwork

I once thought I’d die in traffic amidst shattered spines
of cars, or by infarction—one hand white-
knuckled on the wheel, the other raising a fist
to no one close enough to smell the sweat of my anger.
Not today as five minutes turns into an hour.
I sit calmly, blowing smoke, counting cones
lined up like convicts in their orange jumpers,
or staring into the empty squad car on the shoulder
blazing its sulfurous candles, a scarecrow in a concrete field.
I watch the crew taking a break for sandwiches & coffee
while I crawl here on my belly. I wonder why
I ever felt the need to rush (the movie restarts later &
the grocer’s doors stay unlocked forever).
In those days I made a sundial of the gearshift
as though I could measure my remaining breaths
in the space between Drive One & Three.

Ace Boggess is the author of two books of poetry: The Prisoners (Brick Road, 2014) and The Beautiful Girl Whose Wish Was Not Fulfilled (Highwire, 2003). His writing has appeared in Harvard Review, Mid-American Review, Rattle, River Styx, and many other journals. He lives in Charleston, West Virginia.

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.