Driving

Time found a memory that evening in July
when the air seemed soaked in music and colours
and she walked through the fairground
watching the haze fall on the sky.

She saw him leaning against a car
on the outskirts, smoking a cigarette
he looked like James Dean, only taller, darker
she saw danger in his eyes, she liked that.

Somehow they connected.
Did she walk up to him?
Did he move towards her?
It 's unimportant now.

They slid into the warm seats
and at nearly ninety miles per hour
he took her to the cliff's edge
so high above everything

he pulled left, pushed right
threw them both upwards
further along, up up up
until  they overlooked the land
where he stopped, far from life.

The lights below her promised everything
and nothing mattered, nothing at all
she lived with the breeze for a while
and he looked at her. He looked at her smile.

© Miakoda 2006