Exit 8 – A Poem by Brandon White

Exit 8

The sky 
was an oil painting
and I was stoned 
and terrified
doing 80
down i40,
as close 
to Hunter S. Thompson
as I'll ever be 

In between 
moments of sheer panic,
I thought of poetry and art
and how older men confused
by such things 
are just older men afraid 
of being swallowed up
by a world that never cared
to be understood

I squealed like a child 
on exit 8
I spun round and round
careless and unworthy
of my blessings
wrapped in the arms
of my shame
When the car straightened
I wiped away tears


-Brandon White