Rock

That rock in the yard could be from space
What with its pocked & cratered surface
Ejected from a dying star to careen like a jilted kid

Behind the wheel of his father's Buick
Through space, or streets,
Through rings of planets & tails of comets
Through stops signs and crosswalks
Defying solar winds & the lure of pulling orbits & record shops
To find her at some dark, shitty club
Where his knuckles tighten,
Honed into ballistic purity by the burnt and burning atmosphere
A meteorite to the face of the boy she's with
And this rock now sits,
Done with screaming through the Cosmos.