Roads

It’s my first time driving to LA.
I haven’t slept much
in three days, and my friend tells me
a story about helicopters. I wonder
about the word philosophy as I x-ray
The buildings. The wires and pipes.
They are not skeletons.

I imagine the traffic
as a hyper-slow version of time
travel. I could reach out and pick
light like a fruit from the tunnel. I hope
it’s like pear. But more realistically,
it’s ash before rain.

My friends in the back are lovely and in love.
They sit together, talking with me, touching
each other. The light in the traffic tunnel
sheds itself and becomes orange.
It would still taste like pear, I’m sure.

When we arrive at our friend’s,
she will walk out to meet me first.
With a hug, she will ask me
about the minotaur. I will ask,
“what maze?” because I am damaged, etc.

Trevor Kaiser Allred has work published in Boned Stories, Eunoia Review, and Pomona Valley Review and was a poetry judge for DASH Literary Journal. He works at 1888 Center and with The dA Center for the Arts to support the community. Keep in touch through Twitter or Instagram or learn more at TrevKAllred.com.