ode to lost things


I. forever ago

the old drive-in movie theater on Highway 45
is still there,
abandoned.
kudzu snakes up its sides and
weeds flock
at its foot.
two evergreens lie behind
it and it leans slightly
forward, like a stooped old man who
dreams of first dates
still.

II. childhood utopia

laughter and dreams and happily ever after
Dad was Superman and Mom was the prettiest princess in the whole wide world
wrinkled hands would hold small ones tight and
everything would be all right
you know?
but now she stands outside of her (lonely) childhood home
the rain slips past cracks in
weeping windows
and vines
crawl up the sides
of her lonely childhood house,
a faint relic of utopia.

III. closure

right before exit 20 on
the interstate there
is a sharp turn and as
with all sharp turns, there
is a ditch. and
once upon a time a blue Mustang with a smiley face hanging from the mirror
crashed there. it
lies there still, the blue
paint flaking off.
and it will lie there forever,
and certain people will take the
back roads instead of the interstate,
simply because
it hurts too much.