Written by Charlene V. Martoni
Cars are creatures with no patience,
The way they tend to zip past fast with no
Interest in lives within, no intentions
Toward taking time to see the faces—no.
It’s easy to get locked in speeding cars,
Caught in life’s lonesome traffic. We rush past
The eyes we should want to pierce through, stare far
Into. But through this window’s frame, at last,
Lights roll slow over us. I lay my mind
On the chest of a boy I once loved—now
A man—whose soft, smoke-soaked breath tucks behind
My ear, and whose chin sets upon my brow.
Beneath crisp sheets, in an old attic high
Above the street, we rest as cars drive by.
© Charlene V. Martoni, all rights reserved