Limo on the corner
and no one in back. Maybe
there are passengers coming out
of the grey house to get on board
amd go somewhere dreamy
but right now it’s just another car
with a tired driver at the wheel,
working a second job or even a third,
filling in for a drunk cousin
and hating the damn suit and tie.
Casino, strip club, romantic rendezvous for some
means hours of boredom and long chats
on the prepaid cell for another, smoking with another driver
just met as they cool their shiny heels
in the parking lot.
When the privacy screen goes up
and the folks in the back get down to
celebrating, he’ll be all alone up front
and that’s just fine with him: no need to watch
or share or even scold.
After hours
it’s curve upon straightaway as the big ride tools toward
the livery yard; then it’s the Toyota and a blunt
to crush the night into one more
bad tipped, red eyed check mark against the future.
Dark Matter 