I-90

Driving fast down the highway,
Your face a fire in my mind.
Your father died on father’s day.
John, I loved you
With my whole heart when I was fifteen.
Now I’m watching the sun
Set in the rearview mirror
And they’re setting fireworks off
On I-90.
John, here’s a flower
Of light dripping down
In his memory.
We didn’t know
But we were told:
Before you get there
You’re already old.
Explosion
On the road.
John, I love who
You’ve become even though we lost touch.
Now I’m watching the sun
Set in the rearview mirror
And they’re setting fireworks off
On I-90.
John, here’s a tower
Of light rising up
Outside of Albany.
We didn’t know
But we were told:
Before you get there
You’re already old.
Explosion
On the road ahead.
Driving into purple twilight.
Truck is flashing me his red eyes:
Four lights in the back, a menacing smile.
Trees rising like green horns on either side.
Cloud is pink, road is black, lines are white.
I don’t know how much time I have to describe it.
Red lights in the back of the truck
And the sky is golden in the rearview mirror.