by Stefon Napier
One late evening after work,
just hanging out in traffic,
waiting for people to get it:
There comes a casual intensity.
It hits you just as traffic begins
to move, just as a buzzing occurs and
a pain is growing in your ears as a
wound crawls down your back:
Waiting for you to get it.
And you could go home now if you
wanted to: Taking 79 up to Elsberry,
still thinking about it all. You could go
home the same man as tomorrow; and
perhaps even, yesterday. The indigo evening
raised above the lazy grassland, the occasional
rustic truck stop, the radio tying the Cardinals in the bottom
of the ninth, and the glowing dashboard washing the
shadows off your face:
All of it waiting for you to get it.