When I Got Home, It Was Empty / by Stillwater Magazine

by Christian Cassidy-Amstutz

 

The end of the world had to be at rush hour

with me stuck in it, of course.

The last ten minutes,

slowly inching forward, were for nothing.

Although, with the world being over,

everything was for nothing.

 

Some jarring pop song continues

to play on the radio, oblivious

that every circumstance that led to its creation

simultaneously vanished.

I find my foot tapping in time

with the beat. No one left

to listen, but me, my toes.

Maybe it’s just that they’re itchy,

itchin' to scratch the gas, press the pedal

to the metal, as they say. Roar

away, down two-lane highways flanked by blood,

American deserts, pop tunes

jiving in my ears. Instead,

I’m stuck behind a silver Chevy Venture

the hint of a children’s car seat

peeking at me from the rear window.

The melody of the radio singer drowning

in the static of the speakers.