FOCUS
On the blur of leaves crunched and curling, the way the autumn sun wavers the road, transforming each highway rise into flooded streams.
FOCUS
On the music cutting in and out as the signal boosts between the summits and drains to static or settle on an old time religion gospel preaching something like Christianity, with a bitter twist. Better not.
FOCUS
On the waysides and rest stops with bright shouting tastes available for just a little more than what clinks between the fingers in your pocket. Settle for the dribble past the chemical build up on the water fountain. Touch your tongue to the crumbling steel.
FOCUS
On the point of pressure of your head as it gently thuds along the window and the tightness of the seatbelt on your chest, cutting into your recently summered skin.
FOCUS
On the road signs and play a game of license plate bingo and think about a punch buggy for the driver beside you whose face is twitching from lack of sleep and who has had more energy drinks and coffee than a longhauler. Think again.
FOCUS
On how the light poles make the long stretches feel like endless bridges and how you’re not sure if it’s water or farmland beside the asphalt. Remind yourself that the darkness makes so much seem equal that it’s easy to mistake it for fairness.
FOCUS
On the way the rain sluices off the windshield and trace the path of each bubble where it builds. Make it a competition. Count the number and variety of insects brutalized by a sharp turning, blazing hunk of metal beyond their understanding and reflect on the rapid twists of fate that bring us all to the end of our hours. Notice how the gore and minute crushes of blood are baked into an infernal crust and oh, God, IGNORE the pounding growing fainter as the odometer clicks forward and the smell of human metals softly pouring and the pleas for help or at least mercy because even though everything within you wants to pop the trunk and end this or undo what’s been done – it’s not really your decision. Glance at the wheel and measure the distance of reaching and driving the whole vehicle off a cliff and bringing at least a sort of peace – think of hailing that sheriff in a speed trap as you law-abide your way on and take note of the eyes slowly shifting to yours in the rearview mirror, so you better, you better do something to let him know everything’s okay. Nod. Smile. Shrug. Exhale.
FOCUS
On the next telephone pole
and the next
and the next…
*Elizabeth Beck’s poetry and short stories have been featured in WRIST magazine, Underneath the Juniper Tree, The Washington State History Museum, Gig Harbor History Museum, The Washington State Department of Commerce, and listed as “suspicious activity” on various police blotters. More information on these illicit works (and more!) is available via her website: americanogig.wix.com/elizabethbeck