Misplaced confessions to clear
The heart with sea salt
Like the impulsion to close your eyes
In traffic, smash the pedal
And see what happens.
What happens is always bad.
Shut door. Fiery collision.
Needless casseroles baked for the living,
Dispatches from the wrong
Side of town. All of this
Could be avoided by the simple task
Of keeping your mouth shut,
Your eyes open.
Go ahead, walk under a transparent
Umbrella of shame. Drive in the
No-passing lane, its twin ribbons
Tying you to the inevitable shape
Your life is going to take:
Old Buick with sprung doors.
Joan Colby has published widely in journals such as Poetry, Atlanta Review, South Dakota Review, The Spoon River Poetry Review, New York Quarterly, the new renaissance, Grand Street, Epoch, and Prairie Schooner. Awards include two Illinois Arts Council Literary Awards, Rhino Poetry Award, the new renaissance Award for Poetry, and an Illinois Arts Council Fellowship in Literature.