The bridge pulls at the islands like braces on teeth
Out there the sky, the sunburned people drunk on boats, the wild tortugas, pink clouds, the reef—
But inside the car there is only me in the driver’s seat, me with the cold air blowing in my face, me of the cavernous heart with two hands on the wheel in the silent hold of the rented SUV
It doesn’t matter who you meet
The son of the president, Van Gogh, Vivaldi—
Whoever it is that you think is a big deal
Whatever you think means something
One day you will pull up to their house and get out,
Stand on the mat, hot and wrinkled from the road
Lift your hand to the knocker and see in their grave faces
That it’s only you,
And your self
Reflected back.
Out there the sky, the sunburned people drunk on boats, the wild tortugas, pink clouds, the reef—
But inside the car there is only me in the driver’s seat, me with the cold air blowing in my face, me of the cavernous heart with two hands on the wheel in the silent hold of the rented SUV
It doesn’t matter who you meet
The son of the president, Van Gogh, Vivaldi—
Whoever it is that you think is a big deal
Whatever you think means something
One day you will pull up to their house and get out,
Stand on the mat, hot and wrinkled from the road
Lift your hand to the knocker and see in their grave faces
That it’s only you,
And your self
Reflected back.
feel that cold air face, that silent hold, hot and wrinkled
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