Long Black Road
by Donald G. Redman
The buzz is wearing off and I’m getting tired
but I remind myself I’m almost home,
so I lay on the pedal and quicken the pace.
I turn the heater down and crack the window.
“Radar Love” comes on the radio and I crank it up.
The asphalt road winds like an endless black river.
There’s no oncoming traffic and I’ve got the beams
set on high ‘cause it’s black coffee dark outside.
Yellow dashes scar the center of the road
like a heroin addict’s track marks.
The headlights shove the shadows aside like a snow plow
but it’s still hard to tell where the treetops end and night begins.
Black skeletons silhouetted against a black sky.
The road curves and I glimpse a deer at the wood’s edge.
It freezes and stares, its eyes indicting me.
I pry the Bud from between my thighs and take a swig.
It’s piss hot so I roll the window down and toss it out.
It lands with a metallic thud and skitters across the road.
I got more beer, but they’re in the ice chest in the bed
and I don’t want to stop, not this close to home.
The road is bent at the bottom of the hill,
just before it straddles a washed up creek bed.
Miasma as thick and dense as a cloud rises
up from the hollow and guards the bridge like a troll.
I dive toward it, my hand’s wet on the wheel.
Sad little stick crosses paying tribute to the dead
litter a patch of bare earth near the curve.
They glow in my headlights, telling me to slow down,
but my gut tells me to run like hell from this place.
The road beneath me vanishes abruptly under a cloak of fog
and I’m forced to ease off the pedal and tap the brakes.
Just ahead I see the mist swirling and coalescing
into a wraith whose delicate form is vague and yet familiar
like the woman who lurks around in my dreams at night.
Memories of a kiss settle upon my lips like dew on a flower.
I’m suddenly melancholy and mourn for lost things.
The banshee makes a gesture with her thumb like a hitchhiker
But I’m not about to give her a lift so I speed up
or I try to,
but I’ve entered a place where time crawls.
As I glide past her, she smiles sweetly beneath the tears
and splays her fingers to show me the bands of gold.
My heart sinks like a stone into a black sea.
I break loose of the fog’s grip and race from the bridge
only to slam into a young doe mesmerized by my lights.
My nose is busted up a bit by the airbag and beer cans are
scattered all over the road, some spewing like geysers.
I climb out of the cab to inspect the damage.
The doe’s still alive, barely, and kicks at the air weakly.
She busted out a headlight and mangled the hood up good.
The radiator hisses as coolant drips from a gashed hose.
Steam from the engine and the dying doe rise in unison
and blood and oil comingle into one big, black puddle.
I grab an undamaged beer from the road and pop it open
and pour it down my gullet like a frat boy at a stag party.
I crumple the can when I’m done and toss it aside
and scoop up another one before I tend to the deer.
I can tell by her eyes that she’s going into shock.
She makes a pathetic attempt to stand up when I sit beside her
and then she slumps back down and plops her head on my lap.
I gently stroke her fur and tell her how sorry I am.
She pants lightly and stares off into nothingness.
Life finally leaves her eyes and I fight back the tears.
I struggle back to my feet and I drag the doe off the roadway.
I’m overcome with grief and guilt for leaving her like that
and again I beg her for forgiveness, but I know it’s too late;
she’s already gone and nothing can be undone.
I break down and cry like a little lost child.
I'm never going to make it home.
The genesis of this poem stems from a dream I had several months ago. I posted details of that dream and subsequent “alfresco musings” Oct. 1, Dec. 2 and Dec. 16. The final product is a deeply-personal poem I’ve entitled “Long Black Road.”
Copyright 2010 Donald G. Redman All rights reserved
