Poem: Requisite Breakup Poem #3

Requisite Breakup Poem #3

We travel this highway

as far as our maps will take us

sharing the lead

using each other to block the wind

At night we rest by the orchards

I hike between the rows to pull up mustard

for your windshield

your shadow just above me

in the shape of an owl.

One day we come to a T

you roll down your window and say

I want to go this way

the road is straight and clear

the soil is rich and moist and falls apart in your fingers

there are perfect cows and old trees and graveyards

and there is a town where children play on tire swings

where the motels have ice blue pools and queen size beds

and there is a car wash named the Pearly Gates

I know the owner; I know his son.

And I say

I want to go this way

the road is dusty and hard to follow

there are lightning storms and flash floods

but there are canyons the colors of children’s drawings

and at night the sky is wider than time

On top of a mesa there is a coyote sipping cappuccinos

and we will sit and drink and howl

while dead nameless poets play baseball

on the desert floor

hitting the ball hard, reciting villanelles as they run

to first boulder.

And we look at each other

You wave and turn right

your hatchback slipping away in the flash of morning

a period at the end of a clean gray sentence

I wrap you in tobacco

watch the smoke roll of my windshield

check my gas gauge and

turn left.

First printed in Emily Dickinson Awards Anthology

From the collection Great Showtunes of the American Stage  

Photo by MJV