Road
Feb 28, 2021
I couldn’t say exactly what hurts. Tomorrow I’ll
work with some letters that don’t interest me
and perhaps I’ll pass that class after all.
I’ll become a real person, all the while still
being that little boy in a sandbox of mobile homes,
hurricane shutters, the wharf by the pier, the golf course for Snowbirds,
the murder by the lake. I sat in the dark watching the fountain
bleed night after night, watching how familiar I looked out there,
pouring my contents again and again into the water.
