To the Airport

The truck on the bridge clatters overhead,

like I do on the inside,

bleating tarmac fields,

the cacophony of rush hour

echoing the dissonant fugue

playing inside my core.

I lean into the wheel

pushing toward the calm of night

a black-inked road,

mounding and falling,

florescent eyes

boring holes through 

a woolen curtain—

Ahead, distant taillights

slice the darkness,

precise incisions scoring the night,

etching a forward trail—

but leaving it 

bleeding thick and crimson.

Liza Carens Salerno

7/20/12