“Sleeping Over on Highway 78”

Sleeping Over on Highway 78

for Richard Wooten

Thirty miles to the small town of Red Banks,
The phosphor-lit dial of your Opel Kadett’s
Dashboard clock ticking out ten after ten,
A light rain intermittently stippling
The windshield with petti-tricolor drops
Smudged the next instant by the wipers’
Metronomic sway and rock, our
Antenna homing on Brenton Wood’s
“Gimme Little Sign”; stars wandering
In a cirrus mist, we listen for the cricket
Scrabble in live bait shops, gold neon Jax
Blinking in the windows of darkened roadhouses
All along kudzu-hung Old Highway 78.
You brake hard, Rick, on the slow grade below
The trailer of red corrugated tin; the little
Dome-light tricks on when both doors
Swing wide, and we can hear the chert
Cracking under our boot-heels striding up
The wet gravel drive. Your mother, already
In her housecoat, rises from a wicker-backed
Kitchen chair, fetching out of the Frigidaire
Frosted glass goblets brimming apple cider.
Before heading for the paneled bedroom
We spin a Jr. Walker side, then turn in,
Each dreaming about her blue eyes,
Autumn rain pelting us to who-knows-where.

Tagged: Book Excerpt, Poetry