A Shaky Foundation of Music Speakers
by Sabrina Dawkins
I rode home on skis made of two rectangular speakers,
asphalt skiing on the back of my car
down the street to my childhood home broke.
It was a dangerous ride.
I almost lost grip of harness twice.
I’d followed the music to my last location,
the rumbling road below cushioned
by the melody and light percussion,
hypnotized by the narrowing path ahead.
It led to a dead end.
So I had to U-turn back to where I began.
No U-Haul. No plan.
Everything packed to the ceiling
so rearview hidden.
No blaming: Speakers aren’t alive.
I wasn’t inside the car but behind.
My foundation was music,
and it was shaky at best.
I almost died
on that dangerous ride
home with no money
because an “artist” led me to a big city
where traffic had you sitting more than moving.
Fast walking, fast talking to sell you a scam.
It sounded better than it was.
Home just ahead.
Swaying on those two speakers
gripping harness, not driving.
Speakers strangely still intact
under feet still supported by the sound
that tempted me blameless
to an end I didn’t see,
though its purpose was just that.
Home
instead of dead at the end of music’s path.
Music blameless and unharmed
as something else drove my car.