Missing My Exit at the On Ramp, a Meditation
For the old boards over the well that never
broke. For the stray pellet gun burst
that planted a spider web inside a window
to grow in the darkness. For the fist fights
that didn’t end curbside, mute, and toothless.
For my high school friend, Chuck,
running from the cops in his old pontiac
lemans and the parents he beat to the grave.