Driving on the Left Save for driving on the left side of this fence- squeezed Wicklow road we might forget about each other here just as easily as we do at home, passengers in the other’s car, luggage in the other’s boot. Stowaways. But inside a European Opel fitted for the left side of this Irish road you turn a different side of your face to my traveling eyes. A shift in angle wakes us to the same place, the same moment. We point at the clutch of gorze blossoms covering the fence, exploding yellow from spiked green along this stone-wrapped road. At a tight bend the old stone fence presses closer, nicks the side of the car, and by reflex you lurch toward me, brush against my left shoulder, scatter ash from your cigarette on my thigh. Be careful, you say, and I vow to remain alert as I search the roadside for a lay-about or a few meters of hard shoulder where we could stop this little car, jam ourselves in the tiny rear seat and tear through each other’s clothing like teenagers in the back seat of an American Buick on a secluded road behind a cornfield in Ohio. __________ "Driving on the Left" appeared in the January 2008 issue of Thick with Conviction. Home / Escapee / Stories / Poems / Non-fiction / Contact / Links |