Coming Down

Me and the dog, southbound
the highway mountain‐dark,
windows low, bats swooping
the high beams high, truck tires
harmonize with Allman’s slide.

Leaning into the night
like a skier, ears back,
she turns to me, says
You sure those mushrooms were safe to eat?
She leans out again,
tongue reaching to the stars.

Hours later, the song ending,
piedmont towns shine a galaxy below.
Right,​ I say. ​Maybe you should drive.
But she is curled on the seat,
silent and asleep,
bouncing like a dime.

Aaron Coder