In station wagons, down old dirt roads,
We held our ground like sage soldiers,
Collisions of tire, and rock, and earth;
Undergrowth biting the undercarriage.

And we were human, and new
Our ruts were still just shallow grooves
While the yet unpaved dust retaliated,
Rebelling against our persistence,

Our ignorant existence.

I’ve lived this life, this blow by blow.
Fancy footwork makes fancy ruts.
Sometimes blood must flow,
And what can’t swell gets cut.

I keep my glove above the broken bone,
Regardless of what keeps landing.
I’m losing the plane of horizon,
But winning means standing.

My fist is a foreign language.
I can’t see where or who to attack.
Bearing the barrage of anguish,
Waiting for the bell to pull this back.

I withdraw to my corner stool.
My peripheral friends make me flinch.
I know I can’t get comfortable.
No boxer trusts the bench.

Another bell, another chance,
To beat the thing that’s beating me.
I move my feet into the dance,
But in my eyes burns my defeat.

We do not mourn the sorrows
When we have braved the day,
Crusaded into the great tomorrow
The tragedies died along the way
Of natural causes.

We mourn our losses, the staggering weight
Of all that didn’t cross over the bar,
Our capacity for joy, unfulfilled fates,
Tiny moments twinkling like brilliant stars
Now far out of reach.

We mourn the breach.

You’ve been waiting over an hour now,
If you’re still waiting there at all.
I haven’t even moved an inch-
I’d be grateful just to crawl.
While up and down the smokers waltz,
Sucking their Pall Malls.

Sitting still inside this heat,
My children dripping sweat,
Time slips into ridiculous.
Has it been two hours yet?
And all the world revolves, revolves,
But I haven’t moved a step.

You’re waiting now,
While I’m stuck here.
I’m not allowed
To drive any nearer.

I’m concerned with the longevity
And reasons for our lull.
I’ve no mode of connectivity
To tell you we are stalled.

Our battery is out of breath.
Windows all roll down,
But before us could be death,
And sorrows that compound.

Awaiting tragedy arrayed-
Saying a prayer for things I don’t know.
Our colorful caravan is stayed-
Pretty maids all in a row.

Fool that I am
How many times I
Forget by and by
Learn the same lesson again
And again.

Fool that I was
How often refusing
To listen, still choosing
Ignorance because
I could.

Fool I will be
If I cannot remember
The cold of December
Passes to heat,
And seasons repeat.

Are there do-overs?
Moments derailed, and details
Lodge internally
Forcing antibodies.

The halls had doors,
And passive flow, I didn’t know
You can’t return again
Till a full rotation.

I thought nothing
Could be more secure, so sure
I would be near enough
To hear the closing door.

Blood on my hands,
I took a moment, it fomented
Internal insurrection,
Kissing vegetation.