—THE DARKNESS COMES AND THE DARKNESS GOES

 

Fleetwood Mac

 

We stole your cousin’s ’62 ‘Vette that day. It was smooth for a while, tapioca all the way, until the clutch caught, coughed and stalled.

I asked what the matter was, but you just stared out the windshield humming Fleetwood Mac, “Don’t stop, thinking about tomorrow,” when that semi swerved.

Years later, you sent me a note. Said you’d named him Mick, not Mac. Said he had my same smile. Said, Wasn’t it lucky, so lucky that that truck missed us?