SB Stokes / Poems & Things

We all share

this feeling 

in this 

first lit sliver of January: 

again not being chosen 

to stay in the cold and

dark place

Having again walked 

past the graveyard 

and not been touched

Not awoken to realize 

you’ve stayed too long

Despite the silver cold

the wan morning light 

promises

So quietly

so very timidly

we slowly wake

there’s a blank day

just outside my

single-pane window

seems like every day off

is only half a day

gray and/or raining

at least

I inhale and exhale

at ease

my wife

right here

giving me

everything

it’s a good life

when we both

manage to find

a miraculous way

random close interactions

sometimes 

with energetically dissimilar 

strangers

we cross paths

trapped in the back

of an angry bald man’s car

he hate drives me

toward my mother’s house 

coughing repeatedly

his mouth wide open 

car windows shut tight

all I know so far

he is caught up

in a snare of his own devising 

forcing me quite simply 

to not give a shit

about anything 

related to his bald

-faced rage

until I can safely 

get away

I keep catching him

in the rearview

staring

the traffic compounds

compounding

this back-wrench

ing feeling

this automotive entrapment 

herking and jerking 

through the congested lanes 

of highway 680

the exhaust pipe next to us