I learned what I liked about music, about
men, friends, weather, texmex, barbecue, and sky
in Texas. On a bus to Flagstaff. Count the
Dairy Queens. Clouds. Cows.
Stop in high school on the way to a retreat
in San Antonio. August in Texas.
Trying not to breathe. Patrick's sleeves rolled up, he
could fade into the
crowd for the first time since I met him. Water
in the glasses at the cafe hazy. John
doesn't drink his; I drink mine, grinning. Nothing
like driving alone
through Texas. Except maybe sharing a cab
of a truck with someone worth looking at, watch
him tell me anything, anything just to
hear the voice and see
the expressions he already planned before
I got in, shotgun. Stopping for gas, getting
back out on the Farm to Market road, thinking,
what do I say now?
Can I just say how wonderful this is without being able to explain, not even to myself, why I love it so much? I am right there beside you.
ReplyDeleteIs there room for another person in that cab? I agree with Sabine.
ReplyDeleteDitto.
ReplyDeletejeezus, woman. you're good.
ReplyDeleteLate to the party here, but everyone is right. Love the list in line 2. Everything builds up to "shotgun." Great poem.
ReplyDelete