The Nearer Your Destination
He pressed the red end button
It beeped in response as the call ended
He stared at the device, or not at it really
Just its direction
He ran his hands through hair now long
And streaked with gray
The rear view window displayed
Empty road as the dotted lane markers
Receded into darkness
He sees that ¼ tank won’t take him all the way
Blinks red eyes, heads toward the exit ramp
As the left back tire groans in protest to the swift detour
Old mugs, some slightly stained, clink softly on the floor
He guides his mobile residence into a vacant station
Fills up. Right. Down the freeway
A hook tugs incessantly at the back of his gut
He wrestles down a natural resistance to the pain
“My boy” he whispers
His knuckles turn white as he grips the wheel
Hands slightly sticky from the acrid film, left by countless Marlboros
Several nocturnal voyagers accompany him
Their steel shells echo his loneliness
Hours later he finds the exit
The town he lingered in for years seems alien
New problems new restaurants new people
New avenues hangouts hideouts and homes
What had he missed
Would anything be different if he had stayed?
Is all the damage his legacy?
The house was at the end of a cul-de-sac
He dimmed the headlights and parked
His knees grumbled all the way to the front door
No bell no knock she knew he was coming
“Where is he?”
“Asleep in his room, you’ll have to wait.”
“How did he do it?”
“Said he fell asleep in the car. It was a couple weeks ago.”
“Didn’t want me at the hospital.”
He meanders to the charcoal Corolla.
Sits, sobs, turns the key.
MCM
rate this poem: 
(1 votes, average poem rating: 5 out of 5)
One Comment
- martbert replied:
Gut tearing choice of words. Just pure heart breaking reading. If this really is how intense it was or has been for you then you have my sympathy, if you want it of course. Thank you for this it has enhanced my day.
November 25th, 2008 at 3:57 AM. Permalink.