Aim

She's got a
fast Jeep:

down the highway,

outskirts of town;

down by

neon gas stations

and the

dirty beach.

We pass

homeless men

in wheelchairs

and the

liquor mart

jammed with

cars.

Outside,

night 

closes in

as waves

crash against

the sand.

I light my

cigarette

and

glance over

at her

face:

young,

bold,

sharp as

knives.

She keeps her

pale hands

tight 

against the

steering wheel.

There is

no other

way out.