A Day in Summer, Many Years Ago

sweating bullets
eighty-five degrees
Bristol, Tennessee,
thighs searing on the
baby blue leather seats
the inside paint job is
soft, girlie pink,
but the outside finish
of Pa’s old truck is katydid green,
flying down the interstate
window vents cranked out,
my grandmother’s lead foot
the guide of this clunky Ford,
a sip of sticky Mellow Yellow
a glance back
through big square mirrors,
a ridiculous menagerie
of furniture in the bed,
tied haphazard
with rough, white ropes.

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Hometown Nights

not a word of warning
about this memory
on restless spring nights,

no crickets calling
no train whistles
no stars,

the city kids here
have never seen the sky like me
clothed in all its diamond glory,

they don’t know the secrets,
of apple orchard drives in the
deep dark night,

the cool, fresh dew
thrilling, calling, to fly
a little faster down those roads,

let me out, let me go
release this wild yearning,
longing for my home.