RACCOON MOUNTAIN
BY JEFFREY PERKINS
He jumps out of a moving car
trying hard to stay alive.
The Silhouette bar behind us.
A hooded moon on watch.
They’d really love us, he says,
pulling on my cigarette hard.
Just be all about us. Like he is.
Wants to take us himself.
We take his word instead—
get out—head south at dawn.
Past the slow parade of Ohio.
The hills of your Kentucky.
At night, we sleep in a tent
off a long stretch of freeway.
Where we’re going the water
moves up quiet at night. Stirs
in the morning. Look out
at the lake. How fast it shifts
underneath. A giant storage
battery. A beautiful machine.
