INTIMACY

Driving without you, my cassettes struggle
against the irritated push of traffic,
background music for the voice-over
which narrates this modest documentary.

It needs additional footage. I must
travel to your small apartment and rest
in your arms, staying on-location
between the open window and electric fan.

Steadily, my tires press southward
as gasoline prices featured on glossy signs
blur into one huge number. Hardly
the time for me to stop and question.

How did I find nearness to another
in a world where bastards ride around
making hand signals in rear-view mirrors
if cars seem to follow too closely?


Amanda Laughtland
Edmonds, WA