A Drunken Poet

By Gouthami

Driving home
to a lonely bed,
longing, in every bone.
The radio spews out
songs of love and lust.
I can no longer tell the difference.
A turtle crosses the road,
taking its time.
I wait,
reading its trail
as it drags its flippers.
Patience.
Thoughts swirl in my head,
making their own trails.
The turtle crosses safely.
Driving on,
alcohol slurring my speed,
I brush aside these tangents
and decide
to reach safely;
to my lonely bed.