In Judgment

Sometimes I pretend
I’m a Terminator barreling 
through the night. My hips don’t ache,
blisters don’t burst and my breath
is smoke from the engine deep
inside. No more choices, excuses 
to slow—and those stoplights scream
colors like candy from miles away.
what more could a guy want?

Jessica Doe is an Aniyunwiya multi-award-winning poet and artist. Learn more at