ManicWorld Magazine

After Robert Frost

There’s acres of salt marsh land
between the sun and the ground.
It stretches wide around the minivan,
the last horseman heading home.

There’s the Devil in the details and
miles to go before I sleep. He’s walking
through green-bright headlights
and talking about the good that comes
from good intentions and the worst
that comes from the best intentions.

I don’t want to listen to the Devil
but I don’t want to listen to my
mother, humming hymns through
her deep ragged breaths.

I am young and I am good and
I don’t understand time I kick, claw,
burst at the back of the driver’s seat.
There’s miles to go before I sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.