You said you wanted
me to come over,
and even though it
was nearly midnight,
I agreed.
I hit every red light
between here and
your house: start
stop wait and wait
and wait and start
just to stop and wait
again, stuck listening to
weight-loss infomercials,
right-wing talk radio,
that god-awful jingle
for the lawyer that
tries to sound like
a wild-west cowboy.
Idling under these red
cyclops eyes, I wanted
to tell you that this had
to stop, that I was going
home, that I’d see you
tomorrow, maybe,
but I finished the drive
and remembered why:
the red scent of your hair;
your lips against my neck,
saying,
“I’m glad you’re here.
I’m so glad you’re here.”
This poem was originally published under the pen name Gabriel Gadfly.
