Cyndi Lauper is Drowning

on the radio, lost in the static
of the pine barrens, asphalt cutting through hill
like a parted hairline. A mile further
and she is reborn, her pop turned to preach
of a prophet mid-sermon. Resist
temptation, she tells me in this new,
brutish voice. There is no fun to be had
in habit. I slam the brakes and jolt
forward in my seat. The last vestige of sun
refracting in the low sky… it makes a child of me,
takes the entirety of me. A deer, its light coat shimmering
from the afternoon’s forgotten rain, crosses the road
to the woods, eyes the moon in the treetops
heavy and dull. A solemnness has taken hold here,
Cyndi says, her voice deep and bellowing,
something dead returned to teach us of living. I nod
and drive too fast down the highway,
open my window to the damp piney air
until Cyndi is lost to the static again. Oh
wind in the pines, swim back to me, oh
Cyndi Lauper, sing back to me, I can feel
God’s tendrils reaching down to bring me
to my side, like a king on a chessboard
with nowhere left to run. We are drowning
in static, and nothing but song and the swift
of the air through our bodies can keep us afloat.