Land of the Lost
There’s nothing worse than driving
through West Virginia
in the dead of night
for that brief silent time
after your wife has
turned off the flashlight,
folded the map
into an approximation
of its original shape
and then profusely shrugged her shoulders.
It’s like being in a space ship
somewhere at the far edge of the galaxy,
darkness in all directions
but for a pair of pathetic headlamps
and wondering if you’ll ever see
your home and loved ones ever again.
The feeling is there
even when one of those loved ones
is seated beside you.
“Maybe we could ask for directions,” she volunteers.
But somehow or other,
I don’t think the trees, the bats,
the half-moon, the black clouds,
could tell us anything
we don’t already know.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in Examined Life Journal, Studio One and Columbia Review with work upcoming in Leading Edge, Poetry East and Midwest Quarterly.
