Poetry

Stranger

I tied it up and
heaved it onto the grooved bed
of a maroon Ford pickup,
hit the gas and
roared into the gleaming night.

The night roared back
or so I thought
with oblique animal rage
twisting moonlight
into words and
words into near-miss
car collisions.

I think it is mad at me
because I forgot to
remove my bullet
from that stranger’s shoulder
so many miles ago.