“Love cannot save you from your own fate.” —Jim Morrison
Reports went on for weeks after you died
that “Break On Through” was blaring from your house.
And sometimes, even now, on sultry nights,
your neighbors hear your Skylark open throttle
roaring past like some enraged Ferrari
and screeching to a stop beside your gate.
They couldn’t know that you still crash my dreams.
“Break On Through” blares from your radio
as you roar past like some enraged Ferrari
to Daigneault’s Liquors at the top of Broad
and buy Jack Daniels, Bud to chase it down
and break you through the gate deep, wide, and straight.
And sometimes when my dreams destroy the night,
Screeching to a stop at that wide gate,
I wake you up and you wake me up screaming
our mutual accusations open throttle,
because I couldn’t save you from your fate—
to brake your raging heart too hard, too late.
Laura Bonazzoli is a freelance writer and editor, mainly in the health sciences. Her poetry and short fiction have appeared in The Aurorean, Epiphany, Exposition Review, Free Inquiry, The Healing Muse (forthcoming), Reed Magazine, The Sandy River Review, Viking Review, and other publications. She lives in Midcoast Maine.
