In the night, the lake is a

bottomless mirror, a celebration

with fireworks and beer. A ride

in the back of a friend’s jeep,

bumping along a potholed logging

road at a high speed. Stoned on weed,

a sore spot on my breastbone had me

suddenly certain I had cancer. I wanted

our friend to turn around, go back to

our truck with the spare, our camper

parked beneath a canopy of cedars.

But the whir of the engine was loud.

Panic had me certain Dad would find

out and I’d be in bad trouble. His abuse

had to stop, to glory in freedom from control

was all I desired. Instead, we continued

to drive on through the eclipsed night,

the light of the moon tossing twisted shapes

across the road that haunt me still.