The Long Road

I have driven so many miles I cannot count
whatever distance was spent in whatever amounts
I went alone wherever it was that I really went.
The Long Road is gone, like the dust in the wind
casts its lot like coins on the throw of fate's dice
I want to question my decisions, not once but thrice
Was I right or wrong? Will an answer suffice?

The pages of my memories, like streams of sands
or dreams of trees, I have expectations and demands.
I should have waited for the rains to bring the green
I could have stood the test of time for the moments
in between. The Long Road stretches out across this
my lifelong map, The promise of tomorrows, ungifted
untapped.

I will take my burdens up onto my crooked back
I will walk away from all that I have known, upon the track,
I will find my keys, my wallet, and phone.
I will walk away, unnoticed and alone.
I will draw my own destination, unbidden I will leave the fold;
I will drive into the sunset, away into darkness unasked for,
untold.
We have all our stories, in our hearts heavy with load
These are my words for this the longest road.

Humansdorp.

As I remember it, it was late afternoon in a light drizzle when I came back to the place;
not much there to even remember it by other than the name, Humansdorp.
I stood by my car at the train stop looking at the sign trying to decided if it was
pronounced as Human's Dorp and if so what was a dorp and more importantly who
was this guy Human? Unless, it was human not Human than the dorp could be a
condition like a state of mind at the end of a long day when most men would go
do the main street in search of a drink. Unless there was another way to say it-
like in the dying language of the people who may have built it, it could be U-mans
Dor (p silent) then the connotation would take on a new meaning as Umans might
have a doorway to another place other than this dusty town nestled on the cape
coast looking out into the Indian Ocean without much complaint other than to say
Hey! What the big deal? Are you staying or not?
Silently, I get back into my rental car, driving away into the rain that turns this
town, this Humansdorp to mud in my memory.

note: just realized this is one of those poems you have to not read aloud.

Post Life

Life,
is bigger when it's not in constant motion
like the momentary pauses whenever the
guy with the remote takes the notion
as if some feminine hand reaches out
from beyond the interplanetary ocean.
You stop,
to notice that there were flowers back there
to remember her name, the cell numbers
the reason that you were going somewhere
a touch of his hand, the shuffle of her feet
Do I hope? Shall you finish? Do we dare?
Photograph,
like a selfie except that everyone you ever knew
is in on it, clustered together, forever or at least
long enough that stillness will make it feel new
I recall we stood apart yet close enough to feel
the pull on the heartstrings, unscientifically true.
Life,
is slower when the words push it along the page
like the scribble scrabble of this my digital pen
the smoothness of the LCDness of age
as if with one sentence I can sum up it all
like the Shakespearean actor upon the
darkened stage.

Are you Through?

Sometimes in the morning when I am still mostly asleep, but find
myself staring at my reflection in the mirror and not screaming at
this guy who does not look at all like the person I really am looking
back at me with mild surprise, I find myself asking
"Are you Through?'
Am I! Am I! I will tell you what I am! I am livid with outrage that
my life is not at all like that dream I was just having- the one where
I am in love and the woman of my dreams is sitting next to me on the
stoop outside her house and I am smiling at her as the sun rises over
the city streets of Boston, she looks at me, her loose brown hair on her
shoulders, her smiling eyes behind those tortoise shell rims, her lips
as red as the blush in her cheeks before pulling all that long hair back
into a tight ponytail before leaning in to kiss me. This is a good life
we have here in the city, I have her, I have a car, I have a dog, I have
a moment before I realize that she is no longer kissing me but saying
something to me. I stop listing to hear what she is saying.
"Are you through?"
I look up from the urinal in shock at the guy who is nearly jogging in
place while waiting his turn at the stall. I glance around, we are alone,
It is me that he's talking to, embarrassment and shame is what we share
together in that moment of awkwardness in this public bathroom. I
wonder what the odds are that this is the only working urinal in the
only unlocked bathroom in the subway where I have missed my train.
He looks at me and opens his mouth to speak but I sigh, shaking my
head because despite all this weirdness and solitude I cannot go anyway
also not wanting or liking the idea of conversations in bathrooms
with anyone but especially men like the guy in the toliet stall next to us
yelling into his cell phone at full blast.
ARE YOU THROUGH!
I wanted to tell them but how can I when they look like that sitting
on the couch together, arm in arm, so small and naive to what I
have just realized that I am already saying. I told them that he
had touched me when I had told him no, I told them that I was
confused and wanted him to go. I told them that I should have
listened to my friends when they told me I should go. Now
I know, now I know.
Am I Through?
I think I have pretty much covered it all and yet probably told
you nothing surprising, nothing new. I suspect that this will
change everything, words have other meanings, circumstances
construe. Now stand here in the aftermath, confusion with what
is true, I understand more, there is no me or I but only you.