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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