Admit it, you might be driving through North Dakota
imagining the movie you’d make, if that movie was your life
a string of Oscar moments, where you actually kissed the crushes
of your adolescent days, sent the suicide notes
composed in your mind, running the camera close up
on people’s faces as they read your desperation. Did they really love you
or was it all montage—fantasy trips to Paris, pillows, and fade to black,
your funeral, the volume turned up, the camera igniting
the glow of your reflection as they sob and say beautiful things.
It’s all about unleashing your inner plot
driving recklessly down the highway, which is lined with sunflowers,
and bland as toast. Your life, the perfect tragi-comedy,
as the cop pulls you over, close to the Montana border,
and you imagine the non family-friendly version of the movie
as they clip on the cuffs. This might be the best thing that’s ever happened.
You can imagine escape, and thriller chase scenes,
a clock ticking toward the death you can’t escape from
even if you’ve never had the intention of ending your life
a second earlier than fate intended.
Ah, fate! If only you’d already divined the end.