Backseat Stranger

Photo: Igor Shubin. CC0/Public Domain.


3 AM,
The sound of crickets
and lorries rumbling
through the streets.
In the backseat
she whispers on the phone,
dismantles silence.

I avert my eyes
from the glare
of an oncoming vehicle.


On the highway
skyscrapers draped
in starlight.
I turn on the headlights
I might lose my way.


I drive on
and yet am
often caught unawares
by a lost memory
pinned down
to the viewfinder.


Windshield blurred by rain,
the city — a pitch black
canvas of asphalt.

Tyres lose their grip,
I make a wrong turn.


Night rain,
lightening across the skies
snaps like nerve ends,
‘Georgia on my mind’,
the radio howls.
The roadside dog
pines for a lover.


The road wears on,
as does the night —
In the backseat now
only a shadow
without a name.

Creative Commons License
Except where otherwise noted, the content on this site is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.