This is a Love Poem

But first, I am driving the car I borrowed
from X, whose parents are leaving the hospital

and the white and steady swath
of alcohol, cotton, their blood

in the fridge, leaving the white dark
together. They are walking into a world war.

I am driving that car.
I am driving so close to the edge of the road

that I am not afraid of crashing because
it would feel like…