The woman in the car behind me
in my rear-view mirror, watch her
smiles in time with the music
still behind me on every turn

drivings an erotic art form
I’ve always been such an awful driver
does she know I’m always watching
do her eyes burn into the back of my head

up ahead there’s police sirens
three or four cars in a pile
we both stop and watch awhile
stand maybe six feet apart

and they’re pulling up the bodies
four or five one after another
would this woman be my lover
as she watches in dismay

Then moving past us on a stretcher
a dying man in his mid-sixties
so desperately wants to speak to someone
possibly for the last time

I walk to him and so does she
a choreographic compassion
he’s weak, he’s bleeding, tries to speak
as we three move in tandem

we both lean closer, hear his whispers
feel his arm against my shoulder
he says: “It was basically a good life.
But I’m glad that it’s now over.”

then into the ambulance, into our cars
we haven’t spoken a word and now won’t get that far
back on the highway, back to the road
straight for the brain-stem, right to the throat

and I think we’re all so lonely
with or without that one and only
and I think how can I live another day

and in my rear-view mirror
she’s not there or I can’t see her
she’s driven off, she’s disappeared, she’s gone away