you’re being unreasonable she pined
the back seat window rolled not half way down as if
I had power over the rain her hair
her make up those painted-on eyebrows
meant to give accent
to an accentless face and me /greybeard/
socks soaked to the bone between her
and a good hair day
dream of trees naked in the wind
those arms shivering bare brilliant against
a dirty cotton cloud backdrop / oh dream /
like those 13-year-old boy ones rampant
pure dirty unreal soft hard like the trees
that will not see Spring
my old man was a George Jones fan
No Show they called him and he sang sadness
wrapped in polyester n hair shellac
I hear him sing out when the day’s done
dead awhile but still
as the track parking lot empties
yep that race is (still) on
