Speed of light

  for James Dean

Fast car. Fast car.
Liz in his thoughts;
the reek of his last
same-sexed lover 
still on his sheets.

Fast car. 
How fast can it go? 
Rev up the motor. 
Let out the throttle.
Full speed around
that next curve.

If he flies at the speed
of light, will he disappear
into the moon's belly,
he wonders?

He stubs out his last cig,
chugs down more Daniels.
The ghosts still won't slip off
his shoulder blades.

He's two people, and even
this fast, loud
little sports car
can't make the one
he hates go away.

Pris Campbell

Published in Remark Journal, 2006
(with some changes in line breaks here in this slight revision)

Return to Poetry Index II
Return to Homepage