our inner light comes out in the dark
The truck kept creeping up, bright beams in her eyes, flooding out vision until she flipped it to night.
The dark side mirror shone a circle above. Flipped down to dayside, only bright lights of truck.
The trucker hit a horn, so close and all grill. She ignored him and flipped back, to a halo there still.
She cut across lanes, cursing standard time dark. Daylight needs saving, glad a rest-stop’s not far.
Always open snack shoppe; coffee hot and black. She stared in the cup and the halo stared back.
It followed her moves, as if stuck on a stick behind some angel’s neck in a cheap pageant trick.
The glow wasn’t there in the rest-room mirror, nor on the shiny side of the cash register.
It was in the window against dark parking lot, where the trucker was lurching to enter the shoppe.
Smaller than expected, but a Homer all the same. Get yer eyes checked, lady! short Homer inflamed.
I’m watchin’ you now, a pointed finger warned. In the window glowed her halo—and his red horns.
