Shotgun
by
Bart Edelman
In the recurring dream,
Night after night delivers,
I chase the same white sedan
Down the Long Island Expressway,
Finding myself unable to stop.
I pump the brakes, furiously,
But it does no good.
You’re in the passenger seat,
Riding shotgun, as always.
However, you look like your mother,
Wearing your father’s black suit,
Talking gibberish to me,
Like my unlucky sister
The Navy lost somewhere at sea.
When I awake in a sweat,
You cradle my body,
Telling me I’ve been screaming,
We’re gonna crash and die!
Get me outta here!
By now you know the drill,
Opening a window above our bed.
We rock back and forth,
Before another gust of wind
Resigns us to the road again.
Bio:
Bart Edelman’s poetry collections include Crossing the Hackensack (Prometheus Press), Under Damaris’ Dress (Lightning Publications), The Alphabet of Love (Red Hen Press), The Gentle Man (Red Hen Press), The Last Mojito (Red Hen Press), The Geographer’s Wife (Red Hen Press), Whistling to Trick the Wind (Meadowlark Press), and This Body Is Never at Rest: New and Selected Poems 1993 – 2023 (Meadowlark Press). He has taught at Glendale College, where he edited Eclipse, a literary journal, and, most recently, in the MFA program at Antioch University, Los Angeles. His work has been widely anthologized in textbooks published by City Lights Books, Etruscan Press, Fountainhead Press, Harcourt Brace, Longman, McGraw-Hill, Prentice Hall, Simon & Schuster, Thomson/Heinle, the University of Iowa Press, Wadsworth, and others. He lives in Pasadena, California.
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