Gets you when you're least expecting,
like an old friend tapping you on the shoulder.
Curls up the highway and gently suffocates
evening's last light, prematurely dimming
the sky, and now you can't help but think
it's an hour later than it really is.
The haze clouds not only your vision but
your thoughts as well, and before you know it
your mind has wandered into those cavernous
spaces of the subconscious only psychiatrists
wish to visit. The outside colors shift
to darker tints and you find yourself
revisiting the mistakes you've made,
the kind you wish you could forget about.
You think about secrets still kept
from people you love, and what they would
think if you told them the truth.
And the fog keeps coming like it always has,
rolling over the hood of your car,
not caring that you're in its way.
One May Day I was sitting at a stop light in Olympia and all these fairies and elves riding bicycles surrounded my car and started pounding on my windshield. Really. I think they were Evergreen College students. Anyway, your last image of the fog rolling over the hood reminded me of that. . .
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