Member-only story
Cadillac Passing at 5:00 am
a poem about a Cadillac at 5:00 am
It is so early you think it is still night
and everyone is home dressing for dinner
and the theater, the lights glitter that brightly.
The radio predicts rain later in the day
and then plays that one song
you’ve hated since you were sixteen.
When the Cadillac runs the light
and passes you doing ninety on the narrow beltline
you hope it’s a sign of something dangerous
that’s happening a mile down the road
and on its way, close behind you.
The Cadillac’s tail lights disappear
like yet another chance you let go.
It takes a long time for the light to change,
and you wait patiently for flashing
blue and red to flood the road or the dark
sedan with a passenger leaning out the window,
perhaps the blue-white flash of a pistol.
But nothing appears in your rearview mirror
except the neon of the self-service gas station
and the swinging banner announcing
unleaded at one-ninety-nine cents a gallon.
The road runs on like a simple question
and the engine idles while you keep waiting.
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Copyright 2007 Marguerite Floyd all rights reserved
