We threw a mattress
in the back of my car.
Some clothes.
Some food.
I packed eight books.
He packed a skateboard.
We drove along
the freeway
behind a car
the same as my mother's.
I thought about when she left
and all the tears I know she cried
driving away,
northward bound.
She drove for five days.
That's a lot of tears
and math
I can't do.
The driver had the same tanned skin
my mother has now,
and sun-bleached caramel hair
I imagine she would have too
had she not preferred
the taste of licorice.
I've been reading
*the subtle art
of not giving a ****
and too many a-fucks
I've given
about her leaving.
Let me record
the last **** given
in poetry
and move on.
So my love and I
drove on,
together.
We're best together.
Apr 16, 2017
Apr 16, 2017 at 9:28 PM UTC
We threw a mattress
in the back of my car.
Some clothes.
Some food.
I packed eight books.
He packed a skateboard.
We drove along
the freeway
behind a car
the same as my mother's.
I thought about when she left
and all the tears I know she cried
driving away,
northward bound.
She drove for five days.
That's a lot of tears
and math
I can't do.
The driver had the same tanned skin
my mother has now,
and sun-bleached caramel hair
I imagine she would have too
had she not preferred
the taste of licorice.
I've been reading
*the subtle art
of not giving a ****
and too many a-fucks
I've given
about her leaving.
Let me record
the last **** given
in poetry
and move on.
So my love and I
drove on,
together.
We're best together.
