a road tale.

On the road

between home

and perdition,

you fantasize about dead people

and missing children.

    

How did they pass so soon?

Who stole babies

from the cradles

they slept in?

          

How long before you become

someone else’s fantasy?

The car runs

on a high velocity rev

and you push it harder

to test your own endurance

for a quick-get-a-way.

     

You should have gone to work

or at least stayed home.

But you ride the broken

lines to an unattainable horizon.

    

Your beliefs,

ideals,

looks,

and states of mind,

are sold to you

by silent benefactors

of an unknown future.

     

On the empty road at three in the morning

they are the beacons

to our unearthly conclusions.

There is an exit up ahead,

food, gas, and a pot to piss in.

         

Fluorescent lighted way stations

where you can buy a hot dog,

a pack of condoms,

a 36oz keg of soda

and a smut magazine.

All serviced by some foreigner

who is prouder than you

for being in this country.

You get back

on the post-human American highway

and hit the car

for a blast off ride towards Neverland.

You remember

it as a place

you had always wanted to visit.

    

You choose to keep on driving past

its pearly gates and pick up speed

on the straight and narrow path before you.

You have no idea where you’re going

but you assure yourself

you’ll feel better when you get there.

    

And maybe you will.

josephmcabral.com

dead letters for living people...