Engine Idle

The headlights cut a yellow path through the rain,

resting on the neighbor’s siding like a stain.

I’ve been sitting here since the news ended,

watching the wiper blades struggle, unintended.

The motion-sensor light on the porch clicked on,

stripping the shadows until the cover was gone.

I can see the wreath and the numbers on the door,

the exact heavy wood I’m not ready for.

I pushed the cigarette lighter into the dash,

waiting for the coil to turn orange, a quiet flash.

It’ll pop back out when it’s hot enough to burn,

but for now, I’m just waiting for my stomach to turn.