A.N. - This is the newest poem I have, and it's over eight months old. All the rest of the poems I've been posting constitute my backlog of work from the last five or so years. Even before that, I was not too much into writing rhymes like this, at least since high school or so. What I'm trying to say is, this is a departure. This very well might be the last piece I post for a while.

Second Shift

A brief illusion in the beams
of headlights on the road at night
is all that's left of me, it seems
leaving work long done and out of sight.

The hand that grips the wheel is firm
but the soul within is bleary and bare
the eyesight dances, wavers, squirms
in search for sights not quickly there.

FM dial spun without an aim
just searching for the loudest song
the traffic noise rattles the frame
of car and man as they speed along.

But an off-ramp looms ahead
and tiny streets like a catacomb
Be still my heart and rest my dread:
I am home,
I am home,
I am home.