New York City to Worcester,
coming home from home.
Driving as if I’m ever far from home,
always longing for home.

My eyes and brain soften all
when I’m driving past midnight.
Everything on the road
has ill-defined edges.

It feels like all I need to do
is push a little more
on the gas and I would be able
to drive right through

that 18-wheeler Ahead of me.
Slide like a ghost through its length
from the back to the front.
I’d surely get home faster.

Which is what I want.
I want to get home faster.
If I drive up to the back
and try to push through, 

I’ll end up somewhere,
or maybe that place would be
nowhere. Maybe that would be
home. A new home? An old one?

Anywhere could be home,
I guess. Let me slide through
that truck ahead of me
and find out. I’ll let you know

how it turns out.