Rideshare

I heave the suitcase from the hatch
to the sidewalk
outside the rehab center.

My rider thanks me 
and shakes my hand.
I wish him luck on wherever

his journey takes him next.
He wheels the heavy bag toward
the glass doors. 

This place is located
deep among broad fields
on an unmarked road.

Dark institutions in the near distance
might be hospitals, might be prisons,
might be something else again.

I drive out in the dark. No streetlights.
Find I can’t trust my eyes;
what is road, what is not? 

I must not be alone
in my confusion as to
the location of the road:

here is a sign:
“Vehicles must stay on pavement.
Violators subject to arrest.”

They don’t make it easy.
You’d think there would be
lights everywhere out here

but maybe no one voluntarily
comes to this place
at night, and the dark

is allowed
to swallow those
who lose their way.

Behind me,
the lighted lobby
of the one secluded building.

Ahead, my good headlights
and my memory: how
I got here, how to get home.