ALLEGORY Poem: Exhaust, by John Malone

I’m sitting in the car after work.
Why am I sitting in the car after work?
Why is the scariest thing my own driveway?
I can hear the neighbors shout from here.
I can hear how quiet it is
When I’m sitting here
Nothing going on.
I think too often I picture putting a gun to my head.
How many times do we have to write about a gun to our head?
Maybe I’d write better with a—
Funny thing, death.
I have to pick up groceries still.
I think there’s a game on
Maybe that’s why they’re yelling
I think I was made wrong
Or maybe I just got too full of myself.
Had this idea that I could be that thing.
That different thing.
That thing English majors write papers about
That thing young people idolize when they teach themselves guitar
I’d hate to ruin it
My car—
I imagine it would be tough to clean my brains off the interior
It’s not leather
It’s just brain matter—
Do I matter? Does that matter?
Whatever.
It’s getting cold in here.
I’m still singing the song my phone stopped playing
The neighbors aren’t yelling anymore
Maybe they were singing happy birthday
To you — to you —
My dog barked.
The world, crashing back, a raging wave but
It recedes.
You’re just sitting in the car home from work.
Breathe.

Author: poetryfest

Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film. View all posts by poetryfest