August 31, 2010

You Say Rolls, I Say Royce


The shirt you wear is a potato, full of starch

I am bending with my head in your car door window
kissing you a twelve year goodbye

Your corduroy shoes are hesitating o'er the pedal
and I realize that goodbyes are not:

"I'll call you once I get there."
"Be good. I love you."

or even the screech of tires on fading concrete.

Goodbye was the moment I realized you were rolling up the glass with my head still inside your car, feet on tiptoe outside the door.