Drive

by Andy Gambell

Engine hums mesmerize like a Buddhist Om, and roads
unfurl themselves like mistakes or promises.
At speed, dotted yellow lines become unbroken.
The road is infinity.
The road folds itself into other roads
and goes on in all directions at once like God.
The road is the potential of all destinations.
Endless telephone lines rise and fall
like waves rising and falling
against the bow of the Santa Maria.
One geography is replaced by another
for the price of a few dinosaur bones.
The road is a dot in the center of a paper
with arrows drawn to every edge
so that it looks black.
Tires murmur against emptiness
like the humming of a mother
putting her child to sleep.
What distances will be travelled
from fuel derived from my bones?
What stars will my blood see?

Andy Gambell lives in Floresville, Texas with his wife and daughter. Sometimes he babysits some chickens and turkeys for his friend, but he gets compensation, mostly in eggs.