Christopher Hivner- A Poem

The Black Tar Rides the Same for Everyone

 

Roadside lights reached

under my chin

with slender, luminous fingers

tickling my razor-burned skin,

leading me

down the highway.

I rode the white line hard,

playing with the edge

just like she hated.

My headlights were dim,

swallowing the asphalt

in their bluish-white pyramid,

spitting it back in place

behind me

so the next guy

could drive down

the same old road.

 

That’s the clarity,

the reveal,

we’re all the same

despite the story

the lights try to tell

as you glide by

wallowing in

your private reserve,

in spite of

the road

singing Robert Johnson

in your ears

like you’re the first

to ever hear it,

the black tar

rides the same

for everyone.

 

The lights shine

and beckon,

the yellow lines

lead you away

from the problem.

That’s the rub,

those are the facts,

we’re all the same.

One day,

we all

want to run.