One night I saw Death
hitch-hiking on the highway
holding a sign that read
Going Nowhere
so I picked him up
and we drove around for a while.
He refused to wear a seatbelt,
preferred the dark country roads
with their unexpected bends,
kept wishing it would snow.
I insisted on drive-thru coffee,
thinking it might be wise
to stay awake.
We listened to talk shows
and requiems,
chatted about acid rain,
flirted a little.
The trouble started when I asked
where he wanted to be dropped off.
I’m not going anywhere, he said.
Hence, my dilemma.