Our Destination is on the Left 

by BINX RIVER PERINO

There’s caution on the wind 
south-bound through the intersection 
of tomorrow and yesterday. Two
red lights blinking. Whose turn is it? 
Aside-step onto the sidewalk, or a whole 
wheel–tire, axel, spoke, rods 
like the bent legs of a squashed bug. 
One night a whole car was on its hood, 
belly-up in defeat. We looked for passengers, 
but the seats were empty and doors were ajar, 
meaning someone stumbled upside-down 
onto the asphalt. We wonder 
how that must feel. We remember 
the finality of it all, how one minute 
can be turned over in a second, the hours 
we have left approximating into a place 
that will be the last sight. Whose turn is it, 
anyway? Certainly not ours. Time is no thief, 
for nothing was promised. We borrow 
the asphalt, the doors, the wheels, the sidewalks, 
the night. Lights flash before our eyes and we know—
turn right to proceed to the route.