Friday, November 12, 2010

St. Josaphat

in the back of that

wide cadillac, you took

all the apples from the kitchen

along for the ride.

I am not made of machines

or gears that wind in the night,

but the stuff that drowns

in little swimming pools

of light.

you left, took my fruits

with you, held down the horn

and like a storm, you rolled out

of this town. I asked you to

wave goodbye, or hello--

just a wave.

you couldn’t even do that.

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