March 14, 2012: Driving to Work in March. CWE 166

Driving to Work in March

Red brake lights flash
across long white rails.
The fence blinks like a string
of holiday lights on a morning
gray like undrained bathwater.
The road is torn down the center
like a vivesection, pulled apart
with square houses and mailboxes
hemmed in by broken daffodils.

This is how sadness is.
Your tongue is in your mouth,
floating beside your teeth
like a gray child bobbing
in the full tub. Do you feel it?
You whittle down the hours,
and your tongue isn’t yours.
I tell you, this is how we
hold ourselves together.
Do not bring me a bouquet
of daffodils. I have nothing
to drop at their centers.

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