Chidago Canyon Petroglyph, Detail from Previous
Audioslave on a Drive through the Delta
Upon reaching the alluvial plain, my impulse
can become bodiless.
I was once told that each rolling wheel toward devotion
is rewarded tenfold.
Below, a jet boat partitions the Sacramento’s
nectar and mosquitoes.
We grasp the panorama,
traverse every alcove of vulnerable highway.
At intervals, he sniffs the nitrogen-rich vapors
and sprawls his silver body on the backseat.
His ridge is receding beneath the fur.
I reach back and brush his cheeks,
which sag rather than rejuvenate the jawline.
He wants the drive to persevere over an island’s
vacuum.
He knows the way home is more omnivorous
than moving forward amid time.
He does not shun the coldness of dawn like I do.
He mounts his snout on the back windowsill,
idolizes the river and all its righteousness.
Not yet, does he wonder why I have stopped
calling his name.
_______________
Tamer Mostafa
Review by Jared Pearce
The pace and tone of this poem is really nicely built to the climax in the last two lines.