Do Over
by Jen DeGregorio
Sometimes, the second after something
nice has happened, I long
for death. A kiss. A cup of coffee.
A song on the car radio
I have to sing along to.
Once after “Like a Rolling Stone”
I let the steering wheel
go. The car pulled right
hard, like it had somewhere
to get to, only my driving
was making it late.
I nearly swiped a passing
truck as blood rushed
my heart, drained my
head of any thought
past hot lust
to spin the wheel
toward life. It struck me
later, as I lay beside you
in bed, how much fear
can feel like love, and how strange it is
to name such things
as if they were pets
that might come when called,
when even dogs
tend to forget
the word sit
and bolt
toward the open field.
DeGregorio’s poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in The Baltimore Review, The Collagist, The Cossack Review, Day One, PANK, WSQ (Women’s Studies Quarterly), Spoon River Poetry Review, and other publications. She teaches writing to undergraduates in New Jersey and New York and runs the Cross Review and Reading Series, which seeks to bring New Jersey and New York poets together west of the Hudson River.
This poem originally appeared in the Future issue. For more inspiring stories dealing with the future, check out Apocalypse Then: The Positive Side of Exploring Dystopia and No Great Women Artists: A Lesson to Be Learned.