#82

The temptation to scratch your name
into the aluminum surface mirror
in the bathroom at the 76 station
off the highway from the strawberry fields

is too great, and you use your keys
to insert your name along with
the other various graffiti of vanity,
gang allegiances, and blunt sexual promises

to be performed in this very space,
tomorrow at six am, by which point you'll
be back on the road, watching the dark sky
open up like a stage curtain to reveal

the inside of a god's death mask,
where we move along its interior contours,
never realizing,
the night shift guy getting serviced

in the bathroom, only to catch your name
on the mirror and think shit, I've got
to clean this all up.