I drive this route by choice.
No construction.
No redirection.
This tract knows me well;
I hardly remember her.
In the shade of her flowing fronds,
New cars adorn her curbs.
Stuck in idle,
My four tires press heavy
Against her concrete body,
Succumbing to memory’s weight.
Her vacant windows stare longingly.
She cries out in children’s tones,
But I no longer understand.
I reach an unexpected stop sign
Just within her grasp
And check my rearview mirror.
Her stillness—
Our goodbye.
2 comments:
A friend's birthday party tonight! Fantasy football draft tomorrow! Chemical Brothers @ Hollywood Bowl on Sunday. Yeah, I'm having a good weekend. I hope the same can be said for the rest of you!
This is an interesting idea. I like the ideas of memory trapping and or trying to trap someone. I've written about it before, and I think this poem, as I read it, fits right along those older poems. I particularly like the last line. There;s something about it, I think the stillness, that is downright sad. HAve fun this weekend. Keep it legal.
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