Driving -
just driving;
my first fresh air
in weeks.
A side-street somewhere
off La Cienega or
maybe Sepulveda,
late -
a vision
of a dude in
leathers, flame haired,
antsy.
Stricken
I swerve, do a
double-take,
adrenalised:
an apparition
of me in
Ray-Bans
by the road-side
his car
is broke and steaming
the hood up,
smoking.
He’s leaning
and I’m staring
bullets boring:
jaw tight
the night
thick with static,
ears humming,
temple flexing,
glancing up
I see his face
in the light:
it’s not me
just some
kid who looks
like me -
but damn
he looks
so similar my blood
runs cold;
I’m frozen
both looking away
in unison,
coughing nervously
popping a Xanax,
reaching for my
breath, waxy
in my throat,
driving on
taking the ramp
onto La Cienega or
maybe Sepulveda,
heart pounding
traffic monotone
and rhythmic
I keep it steady,
smoking,
damn though
it was like
looking back in
time
seeing myself:
young beautiful
hungry and
unbroken,
seeing that
fearless hustler kid
I used
to know
seeing something
I miss, realising
the past is a
foreign country;
accelerating impulsively
lurching recklessly
into the LA
night -
an anonymous
cavalcade passing
in quiet
succession
heading
in
both
directions.
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