Idling

The sodium light overhead begins to hum.

It flickers, purple then a sickly gold,

casting a long, distorted shadow

against the side of the laundromat.

I am sitting in the driver's seat

watching a Taco Bell bag

tumble across the asphalt

like a ghost with nowhere to go.

The engine is running hot.

I could put it in gear.

I could go through the motions of home,

but for now, the vibration is enough.