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Drive
by Michael Channing
into and out of the parking garage
through the front door with a card swipe
the elevator is waiting to eat you
up
it's not far it never is
it's waiting for you every morning
to hold you and task you
your mind drifts past the gray
carpeted cubicle walls
and thumps against the window
overlooking escape
your job is to ignore that tug
like a hook in your heart
and sink yourself deep into work
on the way in you counted roads
you didn't take
with each keystroke you question
your every mistake
with every file and phone call
every lunch hour and coffee break
you silently ask
"how far can i make it
on a full take of gas?"
drive
eyes on the horizon and foot to the floor
drive
wind through the window and fear out the door
drive
the sign reads redemption it points back inside
drive
into the green breathing lungs of the sky
