His car stalls.

A 1977 brick, the most

his old man will give.


From behind, the horns lash and beat.

He closes his eyes a second,

lets them all blow. In the noise

is Alaska.


He goes there.

Somebody shouts, “Green

means go, mother fucker!”

And he thinks, “Fuck you, dad,”

turns the key.


First published in Read This #15, 2009.