yield sign, Broad St. and Highway 75

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yield sign, Broad St. and Highway 75

Yield:

 to the knuckly grease-nosed growth 
that’s sprouting from his too-small Mazda seat, 
red-faced, spitting a damning oath 
upon my future grave? To the padding feet 

that pace outside my locked cerebral doors, 
promising that they will stay 
on blow-up mattresses, that I will never
even know they’re there? To days 

I’m mill-stoned down to my bed, 
blanketed in shadows I cannot lift 
with flailing hands and feet? To death? 
To life?

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