Driving home with Andre
D.S. Maolalai
​
in the morning
and the car smells of cigarettes
and of pot a little
from his breaks on the nightshift.
driving home
bleary eyed and high,
lending me a cigarette
to burn
with the windows up
and frozen. the rings
from a sixpack
on the carpet
hinting at interesting weekends. air
so thick
you could use it for insulation
in cheap housing projects. sliding around corners
like a knife applying butter.
laughter
when I suggest
that maybe we
could slow down.