Surprised by joy, impatient
E. Martin Pedersen

Static from end to end of the radio dial
driving on arithmetic roads without a rest stop
without a bathroom stop
slippery through the interchange
into a sweaty land, dinner smell on your skin, sour wine
Candy Land far behind
Snakes & Ladders ago

Superboy pokes a hole
with an ice pick
in his dirt bike muffler
to assert himself; cracking the smokiness
of sandy blond roadside weeds
dipped in creosote stink,
while I snore in the sterilized elevator
splayed out and played out
going up and down to bing, bing,
Bing.

But I won’t ever sleep alone
ever again in life or in death
and that’s the image, isn’t it? the false memory?
curled like moles in holes
grasping you in a deep sleep
Doctrine of Peace.

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