He was a few thousand miles from the motel
swimming pool everyone used to sneak into
when they were kids.

Seven hundred miles from the town
where he waited for circumstances to walk
into the bar, and burn part of his face off
in the excitement.

Three hundred miles from the carnival
where the fat woman would sit on your chest
for five dollars, and where that guy pulled a gun
after failing to win even a single pink elephant or smartphone.

A dollar-fifty worth of a disorganized search for opportunity
from where she kissed him to keep him still.

One hundred and twelve,
or maybe it was a hundred and fifteen miles
from where she kissed him again to make sure
all the little things understood between them
made up something whole.

Forty long miles from where he stayed cool
on the hottest day of the year by saying over and over again
that the blood on the sidewalk belonged to someone else.

Forty incredible miles from the used car lot,
the one with all the vintage cardboard clowns
that made him suddenly decide clowns really creeped him out.

Thirty-nine miles, maybe,
maybe, maybe, maybe, thirty-nine miles from where
the money is now so very far away.

He appreciates the magnificent effort in lifting one foot,
and then the other. He fingers the strange, chilly coins in his pocket.
He looks for a 7-11. He waits for an indoor vending machine.
He assumes air-conditioning will put angel wings into the sides of his neck.

Fifty feet from an old woman jogging on into the future.
Five feet from a mailbox stuffed with garbage bags full of leaves.
Three feet from the traffic masquerading as a body count.

Thousands of miles from his brother laughing
that warm laugh, sneaking him a beer,
and telling him to make himself scarce for a couple of hours.

05/16/2013

Posted on 05/16/2013
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