The poetry of Shawn Van Horn

Driving Home

A job that lasted only days,
a memory that lasts forever.
Driving home, a line of cars paused ahead.
All headed nowhere, brake lights like exploding stars.
I’m going to miss my favorite show.
Men wearing badges and blue hats,
standing in a parking lot,
swarm an empty car from another state.
What are they looking for?
As I wait, the radio keeps me company.
A singer wails, “Is this it?”
Forever goes by,
light bulb stars implode
and off we go.
My eyes catch a blur of waving white sheet,
a fallen ghost under the highway overpass.
After music comes information.
A kind sounding woman tells me
of a man from somewhere else
who jumped off a bridge tonight.
I missed my favorite show,
becoming a bystander to a sad man giving up.
Is this it?


Shawn Van Horn is a writer from Sidney, Ohio. He has had short stories and poems published in Our Time is Now, Wilmington Blues, The Oddville Press, Adelaide, Every Day Fiction, and twice now in Fourth & Sycamore. He is also shopping his first novel to agents and working on his second.

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