interstate twenty-five

I used to save my checks from that first job.
Mainly, because I liked the idea:
everything at once, and
nothing for months, as
cheap tuna casserole
over, and
over,
bought my books
in its tedious way.

Be still, my credit score.
Admittedly shit.
And I sat in “your” car.
Daddy’s little car.
Because, he ran over a deer with yours.
The aggravating lick of young casualties.

Hell, I’m too tired to argue
over speculative propriety.
So, you squeezed my fingers.
Scabbed, leadless pencils.
Whispered, two weeks.

I’ll find my brain and use it
in two patient weeks.

Advertisements

6 thoughts on “interstate twenty-five

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s