By half past eight,
I've traded night for day,
but I'm still sleeping.
Well, I'm driving.
No, I'm absent,
but I'm keeping on
when this old song comes on the radio.
Mariachi horns in single file swagger,
sharp as sent for me daggers, and I feel something
like my pulse.
I follow their snaking through my suburban streets and home
to where everyone's gone, and it's just
his voice -
the voice in my garage wilderness -
And I have an impulse
to leave the engine running,
to close the door.
is a burning thing.
For Grapeling's word pair challenge at Real Toads. I used absent / sent and pulse / impulse. This has been edited several times since I first posted it. Sorry; I just can't seem to get it right.