Mat Serback

A Burning Comet (I’m Sitting Shotgun)

I’ve been trying to fall

off the face of the earth;

eyes closed,

head first. But I’m stuck

to this spot. Spilled

gallon of glue onto the floor,

never noticed

that the glue dried, caked on my shoes.

An Italian girl comments,

just take the shoes off.

Trying to drive away,

my eyes flicker as if I were the

stop light. The car next to mine

is a blue comet, all marked with dents

and turned on, the hazards that is.

Something we all should do,

walk around warning everyone

we might be about to catch fire.

Like this car, like this comet,

its hazards glowing like the strip signs,

girls, girls, girls

and alcohol here. The car catches fire,

burning, all

look at me in the dark.

My friend, a Filipino man, tells me

he doesn’t understand what one has to

do with two; they aren’t

equal.

I’m blinking my hazards, or trying,

to blink my eyes,

I say it’s about God, all mighty power,

he’s saying because the car caught fire.

No, because he let them drive it

around the block.