Day 96 of 100 Poems/100 Days

Drive when dark

Twice driven
into the sea,
our tank is half-full,
and the Driver lost.

And I am riding shotgun,
watching the ocean pass by.

I ask the Driver,
“Is this the only way out,
to turn fingers into fists,
for us to set fire to the hull,
to crash the ship?”

He doesn’t answer me,
hands firm,
steering the leather cockpit,
towards the cliff again.

‘It can’t be this hard to live’,
I whisper to myself,
‘and it can’t be this easy to die.’

I kiss him, the captain,
like a touchstone,
as if to erase the doubt,
and he smiles back at me,
as he drives us into the air,
like astronauts headed back to God.

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