Vacancy
Awake between them in the front seat,
guardrails flashing past — mother crossing her arm
over my chest in case of impact, whimpering
as he barked, Should I smash into this post?
Silent between them, I watched the road
for those neon signs — not red ones
flashing No, but the liquid green
Vacancy, promising in a night carved
from tar — someone waited up for us,
someone had keys for every hook
and would call us by our names.
Published in Muzzle Magazine, 2014
