He put the car in drive,
Out the driveway towards Albert Lane,
It would be a new 12 days to pass
Before seeing his daughter again.
He left the window open a crack;
Perhaps she’d forget something and would call?
No, he didn’t like dropping her at Fablehaven;
No, not really, not actually much at all.
His role snap-changed to just an aging man
When moments before he was in a family.
So what if it was only a family in two—
It was all he had here so far west of St. Tammany.
The tears dried absent just as expected,
With old long practice at things not being as one wanted.
Some would exalt giddy at this free, single life,
But he didn’t think that this kind of alone was all that vaunted.
Turning back to home on Glencrest Drive
As another Sunday evening purpled into dark,
He allowed a thought that it was perhaps okay—
And put the car in park.
so I took a turn down winding creek road
to see what I could see that funny sunny Thursday
there were deer and cows and horses proud
and roads turning off and about every which away
So touring the sylvan environs of Spicewood
betwixt here and there and those Marble Falls
off off off the main road heading out twisting curves
gotta pay extra attention: better hold all my calls.
bridges over Little Cypress Creek are a bit o’ let’s try this
and watch those scrapple gravel drives, please no dust!
Because you pop a tire way down there, my friend
taint no AAA a-coming, you are just stuck and bust.
heading home from Spicewood flying down 71
I saw deers and cows and some horses fine,
but the people there are so just the nicest,
exemplars of the best of the American kind!
hey! if you’re feeling poorly, bad news has darkened the Sun,
try a refresher country drive and take that turn off at Spur 191.
Insinuating bubbles emanated from the scuppered dragon
A fool’s bargain of untendered origin led us to just here
A poet’s lazily pulled rhymes flailed aloof on page one
A new path was desired, that much was perfectly clear
Could you loan me your smile since you’re not using it
Since my mood is lost in translation or nixed in transit
The meme of my distant daughter swears I haven’t Alzheimer’s
My phytonutrients seek softened skins and perplexity
Slices of hard orange sweet potato seek out boiling waters
But speeling is an acquired taste, marble at my dyslexity
Would you loan me your arms since you’re not using them
I’ve this tightness that rattles along with this morning’s phlegm
Heading happy back eastward on a defogged highway 71
Pralines and tourist cup delivered recorded on every tablet mile
But the aimless poet still cannot get off the floor of page one
Freezing rain means we’ll all meet here for quite a while
Could you loan me your eyes since you insist on not seeing
My arms and smile reaching for my most favorite human being