Another travel poem.
Phone Poem 4
I'm heading into Clarksburgh
and I thought of you earlier
and how you quit smoking years ago
when my co-worker bragged this morning
about waiting until he was
out of the airport before lighting up.
Now we're almost at our destination.
My co-worker drives and steers
on my word while the ashes
he fails to flick out almost burn out seats.
The precautionary maps
lay by my side, unused
like jokers in a game of cribbage.
A week ago, I was traveling
in Jersey, where I heard
the worst of your screams
for my poor skills in navigation
and swore I would never visit the state
with you ever again,
nervous to be there then
and to be seeing your friends,
like an graduate returning
to detention hall.
And here I am now with
the maps you taught me how
to find and print online,
and if I even had the balls
to call you now,
I still wouldn't be able to say
whether this calmness was in spite
or because of you.
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