Poetry

A Car and Driveway Affair The Murkiness of Everyday Dialogue

The Murkiness of Every Day Dialogue

Our conversations are starting to need subtitles
gift wrapped translations
a sense of deliberation cast
with the weight of stone into ambiguous oceans.
I'm still looking for answers
to come  in the mail,
care packages like Pandora's Box
the sender's address from the deeper region
of the Fate's cruelest layer of Hell.
I keep ever colloquy labeled,
stuffed into the files in the back of my head
so I can go back, re-analyze them
when goodbye comes to mean
so much more than we'd admit.

A Car and Driveway Affair

Headlights cut through fog
and clarity--
engine idling 
and then finally--
the two ton thing 
that you conduct backs up,
afraid to leave my driveway.  
The worn thin tires
pick up gravel to
wax nostalgic,
get a last feel
for uneven asphalt.
Your steel rims
won't be returning.