Slipstream
The moon rises to its midnight spot
like luminescent hands on a clock.
The last bang of the wooden auction gavel
echoes, fades, and signals the day’s dismantle.
Scraping seats and jingling keys
give me permission to leave.
The high heels that went on tight
now rub raw with meaty spite.
The shiny black car skims the curb
and glides and stops, motor unheard.
The rain-splattered door opens here
and drops flick on my shoulder bare.
I wipe them like a shameful tear.
A cycling duo pairs a leader, wind aligned
With the partner crouching head down, safely behind.
Sinking deep in the leather seat,
I smell soap- spicy, clean, and sweet.
I kick off my heels, furry floor mat on my bare soul,
And sigh as my feet release the tension of the whole.
My face, tight and fake with forced gaiety,
morphs to sleepy lids, closed with piety.
Full with the hope this brief moment contains,
I enjoy the warmth of wine in my veins.
A sidelong glance, eyes meet, bonding togetherness
and glimpse a dimple teasing me with tenderness.
My heart stokes fire with a heady swell
My calm quells the defiant rebel,
Believer transformed from infidel.
Someone else is leading, blocking the susceptibility,
Keeping me safe while I lay down the responsibility.
Sign the refinance.
Ward off harsh attacks.
Demo the errant wall.
Rewire the dank hall.
Cook one grand dinner.
Be the breadwinner.
Power wash the house.
Iron the work blouse.
Hire the contractor.
Fire the contractor.
Call the hospice vet
For your beloved pet.
Drive home sans duet.
Reduced resistance and less effort convene
behind the frontman to form the calm slipstream.
My guard, permanently tall,
With a stone and solid wall,
Never relax into irresponsibility,
I am hiding soft, vulnerable fragility,
Wary that another showed
They could elevate my load.
“I’ve got you” stealthily
Released my need to flee.
White knuckles slowly blush.
Blood flow restores flush.
I breathe into the simplicity
And relax in the tranquility.
Enjoy the peaceful proximity.
With fairness, cycles alternately pull and swap the lead.
Both riders cover the same distance, less effort, more speed.
I hear “Ma’am?”, voice thick with astound.
My head swivels to look toward the sound.
The valet extends my car keys, tinkling in space,
Confused why I recline in the passenger’s place
Again, I clutch the solitary ring of brass.
Reluctant to deadlift that which has kicked my ass.
Figment dissipates. Life resumes. Blanched knuckles grasp.
11 Comments
Erica
It’s best to be in the driver’s seat.
marhiggins
You make me smile always. Thanks for reading! Miss you!
Dale Hitchcock
Very nice. Is there a name for poetry formatted like that?
marhiggins
Freestyle? I don’t know if there is a real term. 🙂
Free verse? But it is a little more structured than that.
I grouped some stanzas in multiples of 2 when it seemed there was a couple, but single when there was no longer a mate. And purposely made the rhyme scheme slightly chaotic to match the feeling of the conclusion.
That was the only planned formatting.
I hope you are well, Dale!!! Thanks for reading.
Dale
Good advice.
Uncle Mike
Great story from a great dream
marhiggins
Thank you!!
Dale Hitchcock
I re-read this and the emotional activity exhausted me.
In a good way.
Dale
marhiggins
Thanks, Dale! I love when my words make someone feel something deeply. xoxo
Sara Shunkwiler
The past 6 years have been incredibly rocky – split up from my husband much of that time to be near health care in another state. I’m reading your words and thinking you would have been one of doctors here in Frederick fighting for women to be heard. As I read your prose, I’m appreciating that the research has now caught up with the lived experience of women, we’re starting to find doctors who believe it’s not all in our heads. My chiropractor said yesterday we’ve finally found doctors who are willing to carry part of the mental and vigilance load so we can slightly relax and be in the slipstream for a change!! I miss having you in Frederick, but I’ve enjoyed reading your adventures over the years since. Mine has mostly been a nightmare after the breast implants I used for reconstructon after my mastectomy were finally recalled for causing Breast Implant Associated (BIA) cancers. But I’ve finally found a smidge of slipstream to recover and build enough strength to share that story in hopes that no other family has to go through it. Appreciate your care on the journey!!
marhiggins
Thank you for your kind words, Sara! I am sending you healing vibes. I hope your journey continues in the SLipstream!