Now, when we should pull over and sleep

by Tyler Kline

Now, when we should pull over and sleep
my friend Jeff speaks up
and asks if we’ve heard the celestial gossip
that one day all the stars will die like a final breath to birthday candles,
all while Dire Straits grinds their way toward us
from the cave of ancient car speakers.

Maybe it’s just the distance that hides this issue from thought.
Or the fact that we won’t be alive to rattle bottles of aspirin dry
and gulp down cases of rationed water,
universally hungover from a Gatsby-themed end-of-the-world blowout.
– Our Burning Man
will be the vibrant star that cracks open the sky –
now rising in the rearview mirror
lighting a field of extinguished candles and singing:
             sometimes you’re the windshield
             sometimes you’re the bug.

So tonight’s sobriety of a cracked window and a good clean voice
will not make all the difference
when it comes time to lock hands and close eyes.
Instead of worrying, I accept it
 – fear.
Peacefully sedated,
like the scarecrow to the left of us.