i am a taxi driver
you are my tourist
welcome to my black and
white
times new roman cab.
hop on in
split the fare with a vivid
description
a memory of maryland
or a few scroungy lines
that do a terrible
disservice
to the vibrant colors of
fall
and the languishing
uncertainties of those in between years.
theres plenty of room
inside for you
and your baggage
so spread out.
do you know
just a day or so ago i was
heading to the same address?
6402 memory lane
(you have your crafty tricks, i have mine!)
the open carport where the apples once sat
the only thing ripening now an f150.
there were fat logs chaotically arrayed under the tall oaks
the ones standing in a sort of a circle
like a grove of cool kids
passing around a cigarette.
i thought perhaps i saw a shy girl
tall for her age peeking around them
with wondering eyes
at an invisible boy who would surely have enjoyed
racing her brother down the hill on bicycles until one
or both
wore bloody limbs like
badges of honor
flush with the scent of adventure.
how warm a thought
and how bitter
to love a home and leave it.
