Ocean man said to the gathering twinkle
Of sand on the head, the moon
Shaking loose the descendents
Of Abraham, "Come about.
Don't be so Jacob about everything!"
I've lost three Isaacs that way already
And I'm only twenty-two,
So I understand this hesitance,
Drawing up to the passing traffic
And peeping out uncomforably
For merging space.
There will come a day
When I won't be able to speak
Or open my eyes for fear
Of being consumed,
And in the time it takes one car
To pass me by, I'll have merged four times already.
Ideally, merging wouldn't be necessary
Because we'd already be side by side
On the open highway,
With the sunset coaxing us on.