I’ve got a silver truck, rusted
the driver’s side window, busted
Parked under a coconut tree
in a frigid Florida breeze.
Cigarette butts in the bed
weeds growing through the engine block.
Four by four never climbed a mountain,
dead headlights staring at the foot hills.
The coconuts never grow,
untouched by warm summer sun.
In the driveway two Mercedes,
white one with cracked windshield,
the SUV creaking with age and effort.
Twisted rearview mirrors
with high-definition hindsight,
filled with regret and terror.
Fear that the road behind
leads to a destination of a reckoning
for every pothill and oil leak.
Thrumming blades,
the hooves of a stampede,
recalling tears of lonely days
and lifelines frayed,
broken sunrays on asphalt lines
leading to free skies
and thermal waves I will never touch
with with wings loaded with shame.
Potential energy wasted in thoughts
confined in cigarette butts,
strewed on concrete leading to a cage
made of choices and disdain of the destination
under the rain
by which procrastination at the crossroads
never gave me a chance again.