meet in the parking lot
after nine behind
the crumbling church, silver
tape on the fender, bound
with thoughts and prayers
shotgun with the windows
down, phones silenced
and Monetochka, full volume
on the Bluetooth
because the rebellious are never
silent, and last time your mother
warned you that this
car isn’t built to
survive the interstate, but
I was raised with the fear
I learned from my refugee blood
on hands and knees in the jungle
so I’ve never been
spontaneous like you,
but I’m 21 and time is blurring
now, so I’ll follow
the next exit with you
at the wheel.
You won’t be mine
and I can’t be yours
because you seek love on every road
and I am a single-lane highway
to a heaven I can’t yet reach,
but life is one brutal
accident after another
till fate flings us into the ditch,
so let’s joyride down
this dead-end street
and hold each other
in these precious moments
before we drift
and crash
and die
