On my travel across the southern half of the map,
I gave a man a handful of change
but couldn’t convince me that I’d changed myself.
I hung my hat on a hanger of erased memories,
dancing through walls back in Prosser
when it occurred to me that,
aside from this sleepy town,
we used to be happy.
But now I’m shaking on empty.
Eating would do me well if the food
would settle well.
I chipped ice off my window
with a piece of the shattered dashboard.
As I traversed the 405 southbound, the frostbite
went well with my luck, as the goddamn heater popped a fuse.
As people up north wore jackets, people down south, ambling in parks and restaurants, sported their sunburns with tank tops. I passed sunburned people ambling as if it were summer.
Georgia on Christmas didn’t make my wishlist yet, but there I was, and there she stood.
She said that the change in me went well with her engagement ring.
Twitter – @AC0040
(© 2023 AC)
(My new poetry collection: Screaming At Anxiety)
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