Reb Livingston

Off Vermont

Wasn’t a leaf that didn’t
Smack her face on the way out as she
Sped across the green humps
There were road signs, sharp turns,
Interstates, omissions and a legacy of mock repose
All clearly marked so even girls could understand
This one kept her gaze on the pretty man’s chin, felt
Sing-song wisps streaming through her hair
Down her spine, gripping her hips
Bird songs or flashbacks, is there such a translation?
Do lovers ever love? Of course not, too obvious
Better luck next time, oh wait, there is no next time, next in line, move along
Oh, don’t worry, I’m going
Didn’t stop for syrup, wheels spat out
Wry pine cones, provocation, there it was,
Lay down and be flattened, thank you, that was nice
Crossing that turf was breech without epidural
Without child after ordeal
New York or Massachusetts, the only options, she
Deserved nothing more; two more locations to
Pretend, for just a while, she’s not tone deaf
Small thoughts produce tiny tears and hers were
Specks and plenty and would not wipe

Reb Livingston
Off Vermont first appeared in mem (Issue # 3, 2006).
Poem, copyright © Reb Livingston, 2006
Appearing on the Fishouse with permission
Audio file, copyright © 2006, From the Fishouse