Don’t you remember the last time we were speeding down this highway?
Anna slept in the back seat, dreaming in the autumn heat.
We turned up the country radio.
I said, “if you want me just say so.”
I slicked back my hair in the wind.
I told you I didn’t want my picture taken but you snapped it anyway.
Now I guess you won’t have trouble remembering me someday.
So I floored it and swerved around the lanes.
I kept wishing it were you instead of me behind the wheel so maybe with my camera I could steal a shot of you and go home to put it in my room.
Maybe you’ll never remember me.
Maybe my face will lose these scars, ’cause sometimes they keep me home at night where I duck under the covers and wince when I see the light.
Oh well, you’ve got me under your spell and I don’t think that I’m kidding around. I don’t think I can forget you now. I once sat up on my roof and examined the planning of my town. I saw the structured grid and pavement cutting through grass and I remembered the cold of winter … Continue reading
Your middle finger was clutching my thumb through the park and over macdougal. The torches were blazing about our street and just down from the sky. Casey stepped with Anna off the curb. His shoes are clogs, did you see? They dipped in that puddle, the one catching green. They were tripping up and slipping … Continue reading
I stepped out into the night and put my feet down on the wet patio floor The sky’s air had been cooling and steam rose from everywhere I could feel drops of rain slipping off tree’s leaves and splattering to the ground It’s always misty after a summer pour And I’ll remember turning around and … Continue reading