God, the fifth day
passed
and I didn't
think of you
in another poem
about nothing
there's a memory of standing
on a Honolulu hotel balcony
your arm around me
screen shots of blurred highways
and palms, bent double
around me still your arm
the airport shuttle takes
another wrong turn
Victor, the driver, says:
I've got no idea where you're leading me
what the fuck you're talking about
God, the fifth day
passed
I almost missed the flight
recovering bodies
hold me tighter
storm is coming
dig faster
ReplyDeleteDear Kristen,
That Victor, the driver, what a ratbag
I think needs sorting out with a poem or two
as well as the taxi driver I drew today
who couldn't read Chinese
I'll bet he gets around by luck
:)
Hey Rob, yes demolition by poetry - stanza by stanza - for Victor & your cabbie.
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