#15

Crossing Esic St. at Lightspeed

An ample grasp on my frame.
Love, a golden river then, ceaselessly replenishing.
Gravel packed roads where tires bucked and roared.
Something salty, no bloody, in my mouth.
But sweet, yes, a churro near the daunting coaster.

Here I catch my breath, to wonder whether there
is a tolerable mercy in putting down the album.
Whether all of the ratty projects, papers, perfume
panted notes were worth piling into an even
near forgotten place. Whether her smile or curl -

The way hair curled and straightened at a dance.
Horrible ways of getting around, gasoline breakdowns.
Growing up in a small-ish town.
Things I may have done on weekends.
The absolute savior of a good sweat.

The AC trembles, an old man wheezing on a clock,
and my knees hurt.