‘I’m Thelma, you’re Louise’ – Dean Winchester to Castiel in Supernatural 05×03
Contains strong language
This is the age of nocturnality and constant motion,
where the velvet night is streaked with cheap glare
and the white stripes of the road. You drum on the dash
to the mixtape I ripped from the radio, songs cut
with bright babble for the long-haul truckers. I need you
to read between the lines, but you don’t know how.
Framed by the windscreen, we are waltz-weary
and far less lonely than the Hopper print on the diner wall.
We are hands rested six inches apart on a greasy tabletop –
Formica flecked with crumbs, this world’s neon answer
to terrazzo. We are pissing in neighbouring cubicles;
I poke my foot under the partition to make you laugh,
which you do. My world lights up, we flush in unison
and leave, opening the door onto the blue forecourt.