tinacrabapple

Red, think of me
as you drive
all those miles

back to your
childhood.

Think of me,
sweetly.

You will inhale
the soar stench
of modern realty
on the NJ Turnpike.

Please forget me
then.

When I cross down
into the Hudson River Valley
I will remember
my old lover.

A writer of past years,
a damaged narcissist,

but you are a musician.

I haven't heard you
play, but you know
how to start
a tap in my toe
and a hum in my heart.

Red, think of me
sweetly as you drive,
all those hours
back
to your childhood.