On the Blue Van

Almost midnight the first day of spring
Super blue Shuttle van from Denver’s airport
ten Caucasian strangers
black African driver,
two riders exit at each stop
at the Hyatt
at the Marriott
at a private house, the only porch light on a dark block
at a townhouse on a cul-de-sac,

Now, two Caucasians
together on the back seat in the back of the blue van
the same African driver deciding
who to drop off next
who to drop off last,

The clock strikes midnight and the van turns
in your and my direction
who will be next?
You’re 50-ish, blonde and tired from all-day travel
a two-week visit to Florida, you say
carry-on bag and slightly rumpled traveling clothes,
I’m picking up my Denver car
parked behind the security gate
in friends hanger, at the general aviation airport,

The van turns and turns again
the security gate
with combination lock, warning sign and surveillance camera
comes into view,
you muse “you’re next, it seems…”

I suggest
we could both be next:
“let’s both get out here, I’ll give you a ride to your place”
“really…. ?” you answer, “really…. !”

The security camera watches us collect our bags
I over-tip the driver, who says thank you three times,
punch the numbers into the gate lock
walk across the dark tarmac and open the hanger door
connect the battery and start my car
close the hanger door and open the passenger door for you,

Your townhouse is only a couple miles away
in the dark you fumble for your key
open both locks, reach in and turn on the entryway light
“so…. here we are…. would you like to come in…. ?
a glass of wine…. perhaps… ?”
The townhouse is neat, modern art prints on brightly painted walls
a gas fireplace, which you light with the click of a remote,
“white or red…?” you inquire “I like both, but mostly red …”
you take off your coat and shoes, walk bare-foot into the kitchen and return
with a bottle of Merlot, a cork screw and two big glasses,
set the glasses down, hand me wine and cork screw
“here…” you smile and I do too,

I open the wine and pour the glasses nearly full, one of which I hand to you
you move to the fire
sit down cross legged on the rug,
I notice, you have unbuttoned the second two buttons of your blouse,
I take off my shoes and join you, next to you in front of the gas fire,
we click glasses
drink our 1 a.m. wine
and finish the bottle, waiting for the fire to go out
and the fire doesn’t go out,
later, on the other side of the bridge of time and possibility
we discover we both drink our morning coffee black …