an old probably unpublished poem which I edited a bit.
There was nothing on the tape,
but industrial echoes, cold wind howling;
the fogged boundaries of reality
on each side of the unspooled road.
They have waved at people, at some point, sang
out of joy, but then they wondered, “when
are we going to stop for a leak?”
Their smile was freezing each time they rewound the tape
to listen to their singing, at some point. Many times earlier,
they had decided to drive back home, find another blank cassette;
this time, press play, not record, listen not sing, all the way.
Many times earlier.
Ignored the smell of food coming from the basket,
tamed their growling stomachs
and left thirsty, maybe this would break
the loop. Maybe.
Athens, circa 2004