Joan McBride

for my father

No, I’ve never gone hungry like
a broken reed on an old sax
I’m not one to sing into misfortune
or if I do it’s a low feline moan
a dark night thing
that causes me to grab my keys
jump in the car and drive—
let my car interpret
the musical score of the long road:
  	engine shout
        	bass of tires over midnight pavement
        	     jump the stave of the center
                    	keen the breaks
                           	headlights shine the high bars 	
until daybreak over the horizon
until I am the bright, spinning note of mourning