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The Road
by Paul Hostovsky
(07/13/11)
Why don't we d-do it in the road?
--The Beatles
I'm t-trembling. It couldn't be
from fear, because we put an ear to the ground
and heard nothing coming but
ourselves. And it couldn't be from cold because
the macadam against my bare ass is almost
as hot as you, my love, your sweet, hot
skin pressing against my own. It must b-be
the tremolo of pure desire, plain and
simple in the middle of this road, in the middle
of this plain, treeless and rolling, rolling on
forever as we rock and roll on the dotted
line. The vultures circling above us are getting
a really good view -- to them we look like
the dying, like road kill still desperately
alive, writhing and thrashing, the blood inside us
spilling over. Look, we have made a little
filthy rich pool, dark with sweat and other
sweet and salty fluids in which we recline,
affluent with effluence, floating in our own
heat, swimming in our own mirage, the music
playing on the tape deck in your car parked rakishly
in the road a few feet away, the doors wide open,
the words coming to us like inspiration.
©2011 by Paul Hostovsky
Reader
Comments
Paul Hostovsky has won a Pushcart Prize, the Muriel Craft Bailey Award from The Comstock Review, and numerous poetry chapbook contests. He has been featured on Poetry Daily, Verse Daily, The Writer's Almanac, and Best of the Net 2008 and 2009. His newest book of poems is A Little in Love a Lot (2011, Main Street Rag).
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The Poet's Companion - by Kim Addonizio and Dorianne Laux