Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Deja Vu

I could never say out loud
what happened to my insides
when I heard that you had neatly
packed up the car with her neatly 
packed bags and drove through Mexican-town
in Detroit and past border control
with both of your birth certificates
across that blue steel bridge and out 
of the country. 
Knowing the conversion rates better
this time and holding her hand in 
the car when you drove and
assuredly stopping for gas, 
that you no doubt paid for.
Buying coffee and maybe even donuts 
and this time you had a map 
so you knew which exit to take
and that the city signs start miles 
before the actual city and
you parked in the same lot 
on Spadina right behind the same 
hostel and probably walked to
the basement cafe for Lavazza 
in the morning -- stopped at the
gas station for a pack of Peter
Jackson's with a bleeding brain
on the wrapper and I'm sure 
my brain looked something like
that when I heard --
A pulpy bloody mess. 

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