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
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