“I can’t believe
you listen to this song”
she said, stacking forks; dishes; spoons.
Foot tapping
inside worn out shoes
as Tracy Chapman sang
about her fast car.
“I used to hear this song,”
*Fast enough
that we could fly away*
“and think just picking up and going.
Not worrying anymore
about any of this.”
*Speed so fast
Felt like I was drunk*
More stacking: cups; knives; wineglasses.
And I had a feeling I
could be someone
be someone,
be someone.
And as she left
I wondered
if she would have taken me with her
in her fast car.