| Red
Carpet by Thomas Kraus
If they unrolled
a three mile red carpet for you-
you’d be safe, at least until the interstate.
Cheering crowds hold giant bumpers up
to laughingly help you back to the road
when you slip off just a little.
You hang your head from the window
waving and fist raising-
and the chilled midnight air
helps to keep you from passing out.
In the garage, a celebration waits for you
garlands for your car - like a winning horse
and pictures of you with your arms raised triumphantly.
You made it home! You made it home!
Conqueror of nearly empty roads, mostly empty highways!
The police
follow your procession one mile behind-
sweeping their floodlights across the crowd,
making a production of their bumbling vindictiveness,
The crowds played along happily- lustily booing and hissing them
as they waved their nightsticks in the air,
squeaked their sirens,
but didn’t get you.
Such skill!
An all-star performance-
maintaining speed, barely weaving,
letting satisfaction creep in while still on the interstate.
I’ll make it home, I’ll make it home. I’ll get away
with it,
one more time.
And you’ll think of opening the door to the house.
You’ll think how it’ll feel sitting in your chair-
think of sleeping. The sleep of victors,
sleeping off the drinking,
thinking of sleep, sleep, sleep,
and the road fades from under you
and the carpet rises to guide your wheels home;
you’ll be safe.
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