Suddenly, six years haven't passed.
I'm driving home from my first official job,
sun rising behind me and moon setting in front.
My hands stink of grease, grit, metal,
as a byproduct of lugging greasy, gritty
metal around the plant through all of the night. I'm tired.
My body cries out. It feels good, but I know that
Fall will give me something that makes sure
I don't have to come back here next summer.
My back burns, every movement bringing a new spasm.
I know I've got two Tylenol Extra Strength
waiting patiently for my arrival at home. I pull over at the side of the road to capture the moment. And maybe that's
why I remembered it tonight. Tonight,
six years have passed.
I'm several summers and a handful of jobs
removed from pulling metal bits around from sundown til
it rises again. I've got a piece of paper that says
I spent four years studying but I only really
spent a few weeks total, to be honest. I'm driving home
in the middle of winter, sand and salt rusting
my edges as the sun falls behind me again,
the moon acting as a guiding light to my front.
I'm coming from a place I never want to leave.
I'm going to a place I never want to leave.
It's easy to be torn, especially now,
without even taking notice of it. I'm happier for
it.