Idle

I’m sitting in the driver’s seat again

watching the wipers drag across the glass.

I’ve been here since the clock struck ten

waiting for the heavy mood to pass.

A shopping cart comes rolling down the row,

driven by the wind and by the grade.

It hits my bumper with a thud so low

I barely feel the mark that it has made.

The sodium vapor lamp is turning gold

in a puddle where the oil and water meet.

It’s getting very dark and very cold

out here on the edge of every street.