get out your needle-point pliers
and turn the bolt of my doubt
to it's farthest right.
i want to believe in a $10
savannah, georgia bus-trip
with paper-sack lunches
spotted grease bottomed,
holding onto each others thighs
each time a bump interrupts our napping.
but there is no place for wandering.
"we cannot do this forever."
"some day we will be grown."
"the tired lines under your wilted eyes show your age."
dismantle your pack.
spread out the hand-me-down rug.
we can stay here,
for a year more, tops.
and then, what?
we will buy swedish furniture
and pretend we like doing taxes.

05/03/2017

Posted on 05/03/2017
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