I hate it when you drive
but I love being a passenger
My hands
in my lap
are curled like two
shrimp
A maternal feeling,
fleetingly
A phalanx of pines
fleecefully
Pines and firs and ferns
falling to
in the rear view
& large-winged
birds crossing paths
in the sunroof,
two cursors
enskied
My dread
My wistfulness
A place to waver between
We pass the place to buy a chainsaw
carving of a bear, and
we pass the stand
where we bought marionberries
in the summer
and jerky in the winter
Is this where we begin
to make our regrets
payable to childhood?
I say like I could mean it
and then we’ve arrived
at the ocean’s
always opening
salvo putting us right back
in our place
which begs the question:
when is the last time
you felt wooed
I mean really
inside the juice of it.
