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.
1 comment:
awesomeness.
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