Why Wouldn’t Autonomous Cars Cry at Night?
By Ryan McCarty
Awake and acutely aware
of each other’s proximity
to streetlights and the shifting
shapes of moons on their own
empty interiors, with enough
of them huddled in the lots,
why not honk? Why not holler
at the silent ones, identically dark
and empty on their left and right,
the whole still pile like a flicker
of a future scrapyard in the making?
Why not scream to call a crowd
of ghosts down from their squares
of light up there, those past
wanderers of these same streets,
subjects of their own lonely stories
now forgettable as algorithms,
broke codes that used to commute
in packs, hunter gatherers
heading into the sunrise chatting,
now silent, autonomous, floating
like a disconnected signal? And how
do we hear our children in the night
calling, but tomorrow all the same
just ride them silently to work?
Ryan McCarty is a teacher and writer, living in Ypsilanti, MI. His poetry has appeared recently in Abandoned Mine, Blue Collar Review, Coal City Review, Door Is a Jar, Major 7th Magazine, Rattle Poets Respond, Topical Poetry, Trailer Park Quarterly, and Wasteland Review. He also writes regularly for Left Voice and Politics of the Kitchen Table with My Family Crafting Nearby (https://ryanmccarty.substack.com/).
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