The spaces between stacked sticks of pining
Curing
Look that stash right in the eye
With dynamite glow
Down Miracle Road in Decaturville
And Texarkana never tastes the same
Shut down all those alibis, aligning
And learn the sacred freedom
Of the blame
1987 won’t return
Until we learn
To look into the corners of the cage
Regret and cowardice remarketed as virtue
You were all born more evolved than I
Why then, your generational anxiety?
Your crushing self-doubt and anathema fatalism
Rearview mirrors are only there for safety
They’re not designed for navigation
Paralysis is not the same as patience
So what, then, if I end up the last
Chain smoking, dope shooting, shop lifting
Asshole tragic troubadour at the truck stop?
What then, If I end up steering the last
V8 – 5 speed, red rag-top, Detroit gasoline machine
Down the
Last open Interstate to be found?
What if I am the last one lurking
In your safe space that can roll a decent joint
Or kiss you in the way
You’ve never been
Honest enough to admit
That you know you truly need
To be kissed?
Will there be a warning label
Will there be a trigger warning
3 steps ahead of me, at all times?
I already have an attorney on retainer
All your fears and fantasies
Like Percocet and Benzedrine
Get flushed down motel toilets
In the corners
You asked to see what life was like
Before Big-Pharma
PW Covington's writing is inspired by the grit and greatness of the North American highway.
he has been invited to perform across the hemisphere, and his short fiction collection North Beach and Other Stories was recently named a finalist in LGBTQ Fiction by the International Book Awards.
Follow him on Insta @BeatPW
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