Emergency in the Night

From the overpass, freeway cars blur
into night.  Their taillights are a stream
of red specks racing east to morning,
like a flash of cigarette sparks caught

by a gust,  reminding me of the acrid
lungful you can’t believe feels so good. 
Four years and I crave one now; the taste,
the bloodstream rush, a bolt of courage,
borrowed toughness. 

                              Going home,
with the empty cat cage, still seeing
his fear-filled eyes, the catch at the end
of each fought-for breath.  All I can inhale
is helplessness; one of the immutables.

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