08/05/2018
Everything was orderly
below the Blanco river.
Water ran cool and easy.
Then chaos kissed me,
and my mother went off
beyond the mountains.
Laughter ricocheted
below aging freeway,
where girls lined up
to parade and dance.
I was uniformed.
I was proudly marching.
Suburbs are not hellish
like you figured.
They crown
a sacred part of life,
protecting brittle souls
from devilish tomorrows.
We were children back then,
gathering endless maybes.
Now I am past, mere ephemera—
swirling in a moonbeam
till our fathers paint a mural.
There I’ll lay, made of dust.