busker

Paul knows the Point

I have a bunch of updates but conscience prevents me posting them 'til I've caught up with my jobseeking.

But this poem by Paul from back in May just leaped out at me. I've read in several times and it works. If only I could use this at the Poulsbohemian poetry soirées.

I Know the Point

it was late 1994
leaving for good
east on Highway 70
when the cop
flipped a bitch
and pulled me over
after I rolled down my window
we stared at each other
him standing
me sitting
both in shades
"take it slow"
he said
"that's how we do it here"
then
without another word
he got back into his car
lights still flashing
and drove off
I had fought the urge
to say
"you do strike me as a bit slow"
so I didn't get a ticket
so I didn't have to come back for traffic court
and I never visited the kids at the newspaper
or hung out on campus after the hearing
so we didn't meet in the bookstore
and have that conversation
that lead to the movie
and the phone number exchange
and you never went to the newspaper archive
to look up all of my old comics
and we never talked for hours
and I never decided
to come back in the fall
so you never asked me to go
to the Heidelberg
and you never said
"this is where you're supposed to kiss me"
and I never called you
my first girlfriend
and we never went to my parents house
where you had that awful fight
with my brother
that Thanksgiving
and the car crash still happened
on the way back
but you were never in the car
so your head
never broke the passenger window
and I never had to say goodbye
with all those useless tubes between us
and I still went through the depression
and ran away to the Air Force
but no one understood why
and I still went to Fairchild
but I never
opened the door
to that shed
that smelled so bad
in the weapons storage area
to get the chance
to sit in that car once more
in late 1994
leaving for good