Fishing at Midnight to Hide from the Dashboard Saviors
Forgive us. We know you are watching
from the orange light of the radio,that somewhere between the windshield
and the tackle-box on the flooryou have already damned our souls,
that you are busy draftingthe blueprint to our own custom
hell: an after-life of beer cansand loose change and torn receipts
from every gas station here to Baton Rouge,one endless slide beneath the chin
of a nodding dashboard doll.