Saturday, September 6, 2008

White Knuckles

Reflection of a wicked sun
burn the retinas of my eyes
as shadows elongate
themselves before us
and a pale moon watches,
whispering softly to me
the secret of patience.

White knuckles grasp
the door handle.
Complete control is yours...
over steering, pot holes, puddles,
'round the snake-like turns
of black-top, paved years ago
by intoxicated men rewarded
for each mile with a smile
and whiskey.

A road you viewed not long ago
from a little seat that promised
you safe travel...
your life was in my hands.


my life in yours.

© Vivian, 2008