I drive through neon corners
of uncertainty—Wright Square, Fancy Parkers, the
parking lot where I let life
give me more than one kiss
and liked it.
white knuckled wheel,
knots tied against both feet yet
I move.
The ghost town moves,
whispering to the hanging moss to
tie everyone’s feet for just another month.
rosé spills in weathered seat,
my wheel is as straight as my mind
yet we laugh
folding goodbyes in the back of our pockets.
