Sunday Drive
It was a Sunday drive
but I wasn’t driving like
a Sunday driver on backroads
going to a main highway going
to the city going to a street
going to a house thinking about
the past and future trying to sidestep
the present knowing how everything
goes through the moment
how every end has a beginning
and every beginning holds an end.
Well-known Roads
I don’t know if I can drive well-known roads
anymore the way memories pile up mile
after mile adding weight making me want
to suddenly brake forgetting there’s ice
on the road not being able to stop anything.
There are only so many roads and the new
ones become like the old – memories transfer
from one backroad, from one highway
to another so I can't tell when I’ll get there
and when I get there if I can say, “I’m here.”
Ascertain
I am trying to ascertain why some things
remembered and some things yet
to be remembered make me cry.
What strikes my heart,
what strikes my eyes,
and why I cannot strike
a refusal to cry.
-Byron Hoot
hootism: we should not be surprised by acts of gun violence when so many TV shows, movies, video games, music depict a gun in someone's hand as a solution to a problem.
hootnhowlpoetry.com is open for business.
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