Burnout

Bushes shake along the road
and the silver stars
seep light into this summer night.
My car runs loud and its body
suffers streaks of dark rust,
dark like red clay in the split
hills of Tennessee.

A party flickers
in the distant meadow
and I am carrying supplies
in every corner of my ride.
The fire stoked rises
almost as high as the cabin roof.

The drinks pour
like shaky laughter.
Someone takes a hatchet
to a tree to burn the branches,
a lantern hanging
from the patio
swings in the soft wind.
I do not want it all to end.