Home
in Nine Moons
~for Blake
& Victoria~
we’re driving
to the moon tonight
on just over
¼ tank and Britney Spears on KISS fm
there it
hangs, smoldered orange above the streetlights
seven flights
underway to O’Hare
we’ll strike
matches, throw them, see if the orange is flammable
your hands
still move on a knitted blanket
looking into
the forest preserve on a right turn
Neil Young
sings of deserts as the rain begins
this
afternoon grandma cried because you did
I assured her
you’re exhausted
six dollar
fish n’ chips special tonight
the teachers
say you have a calm spirit
your head
sideways on a blanket after the hearing
another
school being closed
I can’t tell
if you’re enamored with the architecture of faces at Monroe and LaSalle
we weave
through Friday night I-94 lanes
like Al
Pacino until the Cadillac in Heat
yet we rush
for jamies, milk, Nina and her puppet friend Star
one wouldn’t
think it looked like the end of the world
too light and
yellow for 8:45 at night
here we are,
nine cars waiting at the drive-thru
you lean
forward to watch the lightning north of the Wendy’s parking lot
frosty cup
twirling in an empty space
orange
flowers rocking under pigtails
rearview
mirror flashes, pedestrians unconcerned
Peter
Gabriel’s ‘Shock the Monkey’ as we wait for a #3, large, with two double stacks
a woman on a
bike, plastic bag wavering with groceries on the right handle
like
clockwork you ask for a fry
we walk out
of Subway and you’re still holding onto the ATM receipt
you point it
out in English and German
the
pre-valentine harvest moon above the strip mall
in the car,
turning the corner of the movie theater parking garage you find it once more
the singer on
the radio talks of howling at it
so it goes
“na na” behind the trees
your mother
calls it “beautiful, gorgeous” above Devon Avenue
Most of the
leaves on concrete
with Alicia
Keys singing about morning
love
dogs, bikers
in shorts
Indian summer
begins one week before Halloween
Amtrak #177
passes as Toni Braxton sings down the sun behind a warehouse
Victoria
cries at another red light
2/3 moon
Victoria’s
asleep
Little
Caesars in the front seat
Enigma’s
‘Return to Innocence’ on the 90s countdown on 101.1 fm
I tell Blake
it is one of my favorite songs
he shows me
his matchbox car (a white, Nissan Skyline GTR R34)
onto
Northwest Highway on a Friday night
these are the
streets of your mother’s first years
Blake points
out the barber, Trader Joe’s
Elm Street is
getting dark
the Pickwick
Theater, P-I-C of the restaurant flickering
Bob Dylan
sings about “pretty people”
storm quickly
whipped branches
pothole is
nearly filled
the moon is
on the other side of gray
last night it
was behind clouds, dangerous
Blake asks to
roll up my window since rain is coming in
this week
you’re concerned over thunder
Victoria has
taken her shoes off
the lights on
Touhy are off near the bookstore
The radio
traffic announces twenty-two minutes downtown
on the
interstate from north to south
Blake’s mouth
is wide open
facing away
from the smudged crescent moon
clouds low on
the horizon
Victoria’s
saying “mommy” between words like a character from Star Wars
no trains
tonight while Ellie Goulding sings of outer space and a fire
I can’t stop
thinking about the Newmans
so close to
see the president
then a face
like pink cabbage
crouching
over their children
it will be
fifty years in two weeks
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