taxi

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.