Arja Salafranca
The sky was a dark stain of
muddy purple,
as I drove home this Friday night.
The Coca-Cola sign blinked at me
from the round Ponte building
in the distance.
Jim Croce was singing on my car radio
as cars soared past
in a perpetual rush at life.
The end of a day,
endings, beginnings,
the exits of the freeway
that I no longer take
because they lead to my past,
other lives, people long since
out of it.
They flashed past me as I drove.
Another time I would've been going
somewhere else.
Endings, beginnings,
life's full of them,
becoming one,
blurring into a mass
of exits not taken.
The sky is a dark stain of
muddy purple
as I drive tonight,
I don't know where I'm going yet.
It's the interim,
between the end,
and the waiting for a beginning.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
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