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Driving North on Interstate 99 the Poet Considers His Life at Forty
I’ve pushed all my lovers into winter nights
or fled them in 3 AM taxis, each city empty
as a room I slept in. I understood today
why my mother cries when I leave:
she got nothing she wished for at the driveway’s edge.
I ignored friends, stayed home to type in evening light
that even still makes me suicidal. I haven’t found words
for the gray-smudge sadness under my sternum.
I got everything I wanted and didn’t realize it. I got nothing
I wanted and made excuses. Still I can’t sit in a room
without television noise, or think about the past
without throwing pencils at the ceiling.
I can’t stand to drive in silence.
I can’t stand to drive with the radio on.
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Aaron Smith is the author of five collections of poetry published by the Pitt Poetry Series, most recently Stop Lying (2023). With Maureen Seaton, he co-wrote the forthcoming book Beautiful People (SMU Project Poëtica/Bridwell, 2025). He is associate professor of creative writing at Lesley University in Cambridge, MA.
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