Page 40

Driving in Late

Swerve into Shell to get a top-up
for the day. Can't pay outside
since credit pulled the plug.
So pay it in.
Sodium vapour's sickly now
the moon's come down the hill to party,
nice and slow.
Up at the all-nite market, circle
round in eights across
the empty yellow grids. No choice,
where every choice is yours.
A dark-haired girl at check-out,
someone stacking back in Dairy.
Can't stay here,
an automatic door, four apples in a bag.
About a pillow height,
the concrete wedges in the lot.
So lay it down.
Why not? A man's a pile of
burlap bags on blacktop,
shadow, disconnected moon.